


Feathers of a Phoenix

by httpsruru



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, draco has a secret boyfriend, mpreg but not tom or harry lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:55:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25677685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/httpsruru/pseuds/httpsruru
Summary: "You have part of my soul, Harry," he murmured. "I want you to be safe and happy. Always."Harry Potter feels hopeless. Kidnapped by his enemy, far away from his friends and with the Order not even knowing about him not being where he was supposed to be, he feels as if his world is crumbling down.Lord Voldemort is not happy with the Dursleys and decides to take matters into his own hands after a year of laying low. The consequences of his transpiring actions remain to be seen, though, as teenagers are far more work than the Dark Lord would have hoped.
Relationships: Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Rodolphus Lestrange, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Sirius Black/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 123
Kudos: 612





	1. Abduction

Lord Voldemort was in an exceptionally bad mood, that much was crystal clear to the members of the inner circle present in the meeting room. Draco Malfoy shrunk in on himself even more than he usually did, ignoring the glare of his father who was trying to sit up right, his body trembling. 

The other Death Eaters simply sat in their usual seats, with the occasional twitching of Bellatrix. The Lestrange brothers' facial expressions were completely neutral, not giving away anything even if perhaps they were scared out of their minds. An angry Dark Lord usually meant a lot of Cruciatus curses thrown left and right, however this time Lord Voldemort seemed to be seething silently, which was even more deadly. They hoped not. 

Snape was the first one who got bored of the silence as he drawled, "My Lord, is there anything wrong?" 

"Shut up, Severus," the wizard snapped, his fingers running in his hair in a frustrated manner. 

"I can relieve you of some of your stress, my Lord, if you allow me," Bellatrix mewled lewdly, flinching immediately at Voldemort's murderous glare. 

"Bellatrix, I suggest you shut your trap if you want to walk out of this room on your own legs," he snapped, twirling his wand between his fingers. "I have become aware of some disturbing news today," he started eventually with an uncharacteristic heavy sigh. 

"What news, my Lord?" Snape gulped. His hand automatically tightened around the fabric of his robe. He put up his Occlumency shields as soon as the Dark Lord gazed into his eyes, pushing forward memories that would not give him away and place the Order in danger. 

"That information is none of your business, Severus," he hissed gravely. "I merely conducted this meeting in hopes of some of you offering your help tonight… I must go and take care of something effective immediately," he said, raking his eyes over his followers.

"Draco would be glad to assist you, my Lord," Lucius sprung up suddenly. The younger Malfoy's head jerked up incredulously, but hung his head low again as soon as his eyes connected with Voldemort's. The Dark Lord smiled indulgently, ignoring the hissing chuckle of Nagini on his right. 

"Brilliant idea, Lucius. Young Draco will be most helpful in this situation, I'm sure…" he drawled. "Rabastan, Rodolphus— You two are coming as well. The rest of you may go, I will notify you if your presence is needed in the next few days," he waved his hand dismissively. 

Draco sat on his chair trembling slightly. He felt his mother squeeze his arm gently once before she and her father hurried out of the meeting room. The others left without much complication too — except maybe the grumbling coming from Bellatrix — and it wasn't long before he was alone with only the Lestranges and Voldemort for company. He gulped audibly, ignoring the snicker of Rodolphus as he lifted his head, scared of seeming disrespectful. He really didn't want to be subjected to the Cruciatus curse that evening. 

"Gentlemen, tonight's mission is a fragile one. I must ask you to wear your masks and do not let yourself be identified by anyone. We will cause as little mayhem as possible — I want this to happen as peacefully as it can," he hissed with a glare, fingering the tip of his dark yew wand. "Understood?" 

"Of course, my Lord," Rabastan nodded, his brother following along a heartbeat later. Draco copied their actions before taking the liberty of conjuring his mask, holding it in his hand carefully. 

"My Lord, may I ask a question?" he inquired quietly, afraid of raising his voice lest it start to tremble. 

"Speak up, boy!" Voldemort snapped impatiently. "What is it?" 

"Where, exactly, are we going, my Lord?" he asked cautiously. 

"We are going to retrieve the Potter boy from his despicable muggle relatives before Dumbledore does." 

* * *

Harry Potter sat on his tiny bed in his slightly bigger than tiny room, twirling a random pen he'd found earlier between his fingers. He was restless, his scar still somewhat aching even after the pain potion he'd taken from his stash under the loosened floorboard earlier. He rubbed at it absently, sighing as it didn't seem to want to subdue in the slightest. 

It was just his luck, really. He didn't even know why it hurt, although it was considerably better than at the graveyard. He shuddered thinking about the excruciating pain he felt when Voldemort's cold, clammy fingers had pressed against his forehead. Disgusting. 

He sighed as Cedric's seemingly lifeless body flashed before his eyes. Apparently, Voldemort's heart hadn't really been all that into killing the brunet, seeing as he was currently recovering in St. Mungo's. Last Harry heard, Cedric was coming along nicely in his recovery with the help of the Healers and his support from his family and Cho. 

Harry was glad Cedric was alright, it eased his guilt quite a substantial amount. 

Right now though, he was going crazy. He hadn't heard from anyone else other than Sirius since the summer holidays began, and it was almost his birthday. The Dursleys were just as bad as they had been before and not even the threats of 'the murderer' — namely one Sirius Black — seemed to work. The chores were somehow worse now and Vernon had actually raised his hand at him once again, splitting his lip. Of course he told Sirius about it, however his godfather wasn't able to do anything— Dumbledore's orders, he'd said. And Harry understood, really, he did. But at the same time he didn't. 

He knew about the blood wards, which were supposed to keep Voldemort away and required him to stay at the Dursley residence, but that had been little comfort when he'd had to clean the blood from his face. 

Vernon's gruff voice tore him out of his musings. 

"Come downstairs, boy!" he barked. 

Harry let out yet another sigh and threw the pen onto the desk before making his way down the stairs warily. He peeked into the living room and sure enough there he found Vernon, sitting on the sofa like a big plop of fat. Harry had to physically restrain himself from frowning in disgust. How aunt Petunia managed to go to bed with the pig every night was truly beyond him. 

"Yes, uncle Vernon?" he gritted out, trying and failing to sound polite. 

"Don't get that tone with me, boy!" barked the large man, glaring daggers at his nephew. "We are going to have guests tomorrow. My boss and his wife are coming over for dinner, and you are going to cook it. Then, you will disappear into your room and only breathe when you really have to; make yourself as invisible as you can. I won't have you embarrassing me in front of them," he said, sputtering spit almost everywhere with the intensity of his accent. 

"Yes, uncle Vernon," he said in a defeated voice. It was just a dinner. He would cook it and then make himself scarce; maybe then he'd get a little bit of the leftovers. 

"Now, get into th—" 

Uncle Vernon was promptly cut off by the front door slamming open with a bang. 

Harry's hand instinctively flew to the place his wand was supposed to be and promptly let out a string of curses. This really was not the greatest time for his wand to be locked away into the cupboard underneath the stairs. He made his way to the hall hurriedly anyway, sucking in a deep breath upon noticing the Death Eaters in the doorway. Their faces were covered by their masks, the hoods of their midnight black robes covering half of the masks anyway. 

He looked at the one who stood in front of the other three and his scar immediately started to hurt. He groaned, hand flying to his forehead instinctively. What happened to the bloody wards Dumbledore had been talking about ever since the end of fourth year? 

"How the hell did you manage to get in here?" he hissed, voice laced with anger. He heard Petunia shriek behind him before running back into the living room and he hoped to Merlin they would just stay there until he took care of the situation. But how could he? There were three Death Eaters and fucking Voldemort right in front of him and he was wandless. He had a hunch that no amount of wandless magic could be useful against the Dark Lord. 

"Why, I just walked right up, Harry Potter," a velvety voice answered. Gone was the hoarse hiss, Harry noted, and gone were the claws as well. Come think of it, Voldemort's skin didn't look that sickly gray color anymore. He couldn't help but be curious about what had happened earlier that summer to make this possible. 

"What do you want?" he asked icily. 

"You, of course, Harry," came the answer calmly. "But first, I'm afraid I have a bit of business that I have to take care of which involves your muggles." Harry could practically hear the sneer, he didn't need to see it; he was at a loss. His hand shook as he raked his thoughts for something that would work, however, he didn't seem to stand a chance. "Petrificus Totalus! My apologies, Potter," Voldemort drawled as he stepped next to Harry's petrified body. He couldn't see the man, but he was sure he had gone in the living room. 

Harry watched warily as one of the Death Eaters stood above him and pointed his wand at him. So, this is how I go, he thought sourly, at the hands of a Death Eater. 

"Finite incantatem," he murmured, and Harry immediately felt the control back in his limbs. Although not for very long, seeing as almost instantly he felt thick ropes curve themselves around his wrists and ankles. "You mustn't run, I'm sure you understand, Potter," the Death Eater said, levitating a struggling Harry onto the stairs where he was ceremoniously dropped onto his butt. His voice was eerily familiar and it took Harry a few minutes to be able to put his finger on it. He knew he'd heard that voice before, the snobby accent quite hard to miss. 

"Malfoy?!" he gaped. "You foul, slimy, absolutely barmy fucking git— You're one of his minions?" 

"How very eloquent of you, Potter," he stated flatly. "I was inducted shortly after the term ended, if you must know," he drawled, twirling his wand between his fingers. 

"Let me go, Malfoy," Harry snapped, tugging at the ropes hugging his ankles and wrists. He heard Dudley let out a scream filled with pain and his blood froze in his veins. He started tugging more frantically, albeit to no avail. The ropes were obviously magical, seeing as despite them not hurting him at all, they still weren't easing up at all. 

"Not likely," Malfoy stated calmly, as if he were just talking about the weather outside. The other two were just lounging around the hall, inspecting the pictures on the walls. It was a rather comic sight, and Harry was sure he would have laughed, had Voldemort not been in the process of murdering his relatives in the next room. 

Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second. Opening them, he focused on Malfoy's wand which he was still twirling between his fingers and tried to wandlessly summon it. Of course, it didn't work seeing as he only managed to master wordless magic last school year, not wandless one as well. Malfoy snorted, but tucked away his wand for good measure. 

Another gut-wrenching scream came from the living room and Harry flinched. He closed his eyes tightly, pressing his head between his knees. His scar really hurt properly now, sharp white pain coursing through it as he gave a groan. It felt as if Voldemort's anger was splitting his head in a million little pieces. He lifted his head and rubbed his bound arms against his forehead in hopes of alleviating some of it, alas in vain. 

"What's wrong with him?" asked one of the Death Eaters whose voice he didn't recognize. Malfoy glanced at him and shrugged in response. "Potter, what's wrong?" he turned to the raven-haired boy. Harry stared at him incredulously, as if he didn't believe it was a genuine question; but he supposed that was only natural. He was trapped in his own home with his archenemy and his minions; his relatives screaming and shouting and begging for mercy that would not come. 

"I can't imagine anything that could even be remotely bad. Not a thing," he hissed, gritting his teeth together. Fuck, how he wished Voldemort would just calm the fuck down and stop giving him such horrible, indestructible migraines that ate his brain from the inside. 

The Death Eaters ignored him from then onwards. They didn't have to wait for long, though, seeing as Voldemort walked into the hallway a few minutes later. He looked pristine—his golden mask intact and in place, nothing out of the ordinary. Not a drop of blood, which could mean the best or the worst at the same time. 

"Brilliant relatives you have there, I must say, Potter," he drawled, his wand in hand. "How you survived all these years amazes me, to be quite honest."

"I'm sure you know I'm supposed to be the Boy-Who-Won't-Fucking-Die. That doesn't only apply to situations you are a part of," Harry muttered. The sharp pain in his scar eased into a dull, much more tolerable throbbing. 

"Such crude language," Voldemort tutted as if he were a father scolding his only child. Harry grimaced at the thought and even gagged a bit. "As charming as conversing with you is, Potter, I'm afraid we have to get going now." 

"What did you do to them?" Harry demanded, once again trying to free his wrists from the rope's prison. 

"You needn't worry about that," Voldemort replied, the dismissal clear in his voice. 

"Did you kill them?" 

"Of course I didn't kill them, you foolish boy. What do you think I am, an idiot?" the Dark Lord sneered, looking around the hall in obvious disdain. The frown on his face only deepened as he took notice of the numerous picture of Dudley's gigantic self. "Where are your things, boy?" Voldemort turned to him suddenly, and Harry felt the pain intensify once again. He gritted his teeth together and scrunched his nose up, raising his chin defiantly as if it could make the pain go away. 

"Why don't you just Accio them, if you're such a mighty powerful wizard?" he spat, albeit with far less bite than he intended to, probably due to the splitting headache he was sporting seeing as he refused to give Voldemort the pleasure of seeing him cower in front of him. 

Voldemort grunted, then flicked his wand wordlessly in an intricate manner Harry had never seen before. The door of the tiny cupboard under the stairs slammed open at once, his things floating out of it fastly, but still delicately. His heart rate sped up upon seeing his wand, the wood calling to him like no other. Harry's throat tightened as he saw the single Gryffindor necktie curled around the handle of the trunk— It had been his father's once, a long time ago. Sirius had given it to him the last time he'd seen him just before the term ended. He then pursed his lips together, set on not letting the wizard standing in front of him and his minions see him weak. 

"Ah, I wondered why you hadn't knocked my Death Eaters out yet," he drawled upon seeing the wand. He grabbed it and tucked it away — Harry winced — before shrinking the trunk and passing it to one of his followers. "Right, I believe we are all set. If you wish to take something else, do tell me," he said calmly, glancing at the still bound form of Harry. 

"Hedwig," Harry muttered. 

"Excuse me?" 

"My owl. She's upstairs," he said curtly, his eyes leaving Voldemort's mask-covered face for the first time. 

"Alright," Voldemort relented then turned to one of the Death Eaters. "Go upstairs and free the owl. Tell it to go straight to the manor," he instructed him, and the man went without a word. Harry was a bit worried— Hedwig wasn't very good with new people, especially murderers. Although, he thought, it certainly wouldn't be a bad thing if she nipped at his hand a bit harsher than usually. 

"My Lord," Malfoy spoke up. "What are we going to do about the Muggles?" There was a worried edge to his voice which Harry found quite strange. 

" _We_ aren't going to do anything about them," he drawled. " _I_ already took care of it, of course. Unless you don't trust me, young one?" he asked and Harry could practically touch the threat with his fingertips. The tension was high for a few seconds before Malfoy bowed his head a bit. 

"Of course I trust you, My Lord." 

"Good," Voldemort nodded as the Death Eater returned from upstairs. Sadly, Harry couldn't see anything out of place on him which essentially meant that Hedwig hadn't attacked him. He frowned, mentally making a note of telling Hedwig later who to nip at harder. He wondered whether they'd let him write a letter but then immediately realized it was a stupid concept. The fact that he hadn't been majorly harmed yet meant nothing, as he was still being kidnapped; a fact he needn't forget. 

Oh, how he wished he had Ron's obliviously unbothered personality. 

Voldemort closed the gap between Harry and himself, placing his cold hand on his shoulder. It took everything in Harry not to flinch at the contact as he swallowed the bike that had risen in his throat. Merlin's saggy left ball, Voldemort was touching him and Harry didn't even have a wand— not that it would have helped him much, seeing as he was just every bit as tied up as he had been minutes prior. 

"You three know where to go," he drawled. "Go on and inform Lucius we're arriving."

With two pops, the three cloaked figures Disapparated, one of them firmly clasping the other's elbow. 

"Don't touch me," Harry sneered, trying to get farther from the monster he knew was under the midnight black robes. He heard an icy chuckle and shivered; he hoped death came soon. 

The Dark Lord simply tightened his hold on the bony shoulder as an answer and pointed his wand upwards. 

"Such a little Gryffindor." Harry heard his raspy, deep voice murmur before he was sucked into the sick swirl of Apparition. 

* * *

The room they landed in was spacious and alive with light despite it being dark outside. Harry supposed the windows were charmed to make the inhabitant think it was natural light coming through them. No matter, Harry loved the fact that the space was so bright. 

His wrists and ankles were free after the woosh of a wand— namely one Tom Riddle's wand. The wizard had donned the golden mask and was now standing in the middle of the room clad only in the black hooded robes. Harry couldn't help but stare; the figure standing in front of him was so far from the snake-like thing that had come out of the cauldron at the end of his fourth year that it actually amazed Harry. The man in front of him resembled the Tom Riddle he had seen in the Chamber of Secrets in his second year, only he was a bit paler, looked a little older and had glowing, crimson eyes. 

Harry felt extremely uncomfortable. 

"We're at Malfoy Manor," the pale wizard spoke up suddenly. "I figured you would like having someone your age around, wouldn't you?" 

"Malfoy and I don't get along really well," he gritted out through his teeth. 

"Well, that's not really any of my concern now, is it?" 

Merlin, but the man was infuriating. Absolutely infuriating. 

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and lifted his chin— looked Voldemort dead in the eyes and waited for the sharp pain to start. 

It didn't. 

He scrunched up his nose, but let it go, grateful that he didn't feel the migraine anymore. He watched, eyes like a hawk, as the midnight-haired man elegantly reached under his robe and took out Harry's wand. The teenager's breath hitched— He almost expected Voldemort to simply snap his wand in two. But, that didn't happen. 

Instead, the wizard took a few steps closer and extended the wooden stick towards him. Harry stared at it for a few seconds before slowly reaching out his hand and curling his finger around the wand as it hummed happily at being in his owner's hands once again. 

Harry should have known there was a catch, really. 

Voldemort suddenly whipped out his own wand, pressing it against Harry's throat as he gripped the fingers curled around the brother of his wand. He sneered down at the raven-haired boy, as there was a significant height difference between them, and bore his eyes into the emerald orbs. 

"If you so much as try any magic, I won't hesitate to have you thrown into a cellar," he hissed out, the threat crystal clear in his voice. 

"We'll see," Harry spat, not being able to stop himself and glared at the Dark Lord towering over him. "I will not take orders from you!" 

"We'll see," replied Voldemort, his face settling into a dangerous smirk. "Do enjoy your stay here, Mr Potter. I believe it will be lengthy." 

Then, he Apparated straight out of the room, leaving Harry confused, with his hand still glued to his wand. 

* * *

A few hours later, the room was still bright and Harry was sitting on the edge of the enormous bed, Hedwig on his shoulder and his wand between his fingers. His palm itched to do some magic, however, he knew he couldn't risk it. He didn't want to be sacked from Hogwarts for violating rules, and so he ignored the itchy feeling and sat on the same spot for hours. 

He wondered what his friends were doing. They hadn't been able to write to each other compared to the other summer holidays, what with the Dursleys being worse than usual and Hermione going abroad for vacations. Ron had spent most of his summer with Charlie, his older brother, in Romania at the Dragon Reserve. He sent his occasional letter to keep them updated about the dragons — which he was positively enchanted with —, though, so Harry supposed he really couldn't complain. Except, you know, being kidnapped by bloody Malfoy and the Dark Lord. 

He really should have been suspicious of how well his fifth year had went, without any major hitches, only a few Death Eater raids. 

A house elf had popped by earlier to deposit his things in his new room, although he hadn't touched his trunk yet. He sighed, looking at the big magical clock on the wall which told him it was just after two in the morning. He supposed everyone had to be asleep, so… A stroll could hardly hurt, now, could it? 

He tiptoed to his trunk, keeping quiet in his rooms even though he knew no one could possibly hear him and tugged the Invisibility Cloak out of one of the secret pockets. He circled it around his shoulders and gently tugged the gigantic door open. 

He was about to step outside on the corridor when his foot bumped into something. He frowned and looked down— It was a silver tray packed with heaps of Wizarding sweets. There were a dozen chocolate frogs as well as a few packets of Bertie Bott's Every Flavored Beans, Fudge Flies and Peppermint Toads. He chuckled; it was a bit silly to leave all of this for him seeing as the sweets were more meant for younger kids, however somewhere deep down it warmed his heart and he wondered which house elf had left it there for him. 

He bent down to pick up the tray when he noticed a big, leather-bound book next to it. He picked it up instead and sucked in a breath upon seeing the silver lettering against the dark cover, which read: _The Darkest of the Dark Arts and How to Master Them._

He picked them both up, promptly forgetting his intention to go explore the manor and hurried back to the bed where he dumped the sweets onto the mattress. 

He twirled the book around for a bit, pondering whether or not to open it, seeing as it was clear who had given it to him along with the sweets. That was another thing he couldn't figure out the reasoning behind as he gnawed on his lower lip but decided to worry about it later. 

He noticed a little, colored piece of parchment — he didn't even know those existed — peek out from the middle-ish of the monstrous book. Curiosity taking over him, he gulped as he opened it where it had been marked beforehand. 

He read the title of the chapter and frowned, 

_Horcruxes?_


	2. Malfoy Manor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies!! UPDATE!!
> 
> The response to this fic was astounding and so very heart-warming. Love you all, thank you so much!
> 
> That being said, the warnings for this chapter are:  
> Cruciatus Curse  
> Bellatrix
> 
> Bold in italics is spoken in Parseltongue. 
> 
> Enjoy<33

Lord Voldemort was sitting in Lucius' study, his lips set in a grim line, a glass of high-quality Firewhiskey in his hand. He swirled the transparent liquid before knocking it back all at once, ignoring the burning feeling down his throat. 

Normally he didn't indulge in this type of stress relief, finding torturing his followers a better outlet, however that night's mission had left him with a bitter taste in his mouth he desperately wished to wash down with something alcoholic. He wasn't used to feeling anything other than rage, contempt and satisfaction that came from killing, however with the pieces of his soul regained he found that the ability to feel more than a spoon would had come back to. He supposed it would be beneficial for him, feeling— After all he wanted the Potter boy to be as comfortable as possible while in this new situation, and acting like a madman serial killer surely wasn't going to invoke that state. 

Nagini was curled around his ankles, her enormous head resting on his lap. He felt her slick tongue against his wrists from time to time and lifted his free hand to gently pet her, just the way she liked. Despite being a twelve-feet long venomous snake, Nagini sure did like to be pampered and held close. Not that Tom would ever confess to cuddling sessions with his familiar late into the night. That really was information only he should know, for obvious reasons. 

**_"So I can't eat him?_** " she hissed to him after a long bout of silence. Voldemort snorted, trailing his fingers down her scales. 

**_"No, you can't, lovely,"_** he answered. **_"It is our priority to keep him safe from now on, just as we keep you out of harm's way."_**

 ** _"What changed your mind, Master?"_** she asked, slithering up further until she reached his neck and draped herself over his shoulders, head resting against his right cheek. Tom sighed. 

**_"He has something of mine, something of utmost importance. I'm sure you understand, Nagini, what I'm implying,"_** he drawled, rolling a tense shoulder carefully as to disturb his snake as little as humanly possible. She let out a hiss-like huff of breath before sliding down his body. 

**_"I shall go and look out for the new hatchling,"_ **she mumbled as she was already slithering away from the study. 

The Dark Lord shook his head and slid his gaze towards Lucius' form. The blond man had watched the exchange between master and familiar with a peculiar facial expression of terror. Tom wanted to laugh— Lucius was such a wimp. He had half a mind to make him suffer more for betraying him after the first Wizarding War, however, lately he leaned heavily towards his son, Draco. 

Draco could bring back useful information once he returned to the school. Severus as well… Although the Lord had his suspicions about the midnight-haired man. Ones that he couldn't ignore anymore, and he figured he could test Severus' loyalty at a later date, perhaps after the Potter boy has settled in. Until then, he could feed him useless information and not give anything important away while regularly worming his way into his mind. Not that he found anything remotely interesting there, as Severus seemed to be an astounding Occlumencer, though he forgot one thing. 

Voldemort was a better Legilimens than he was an Occlumencer, thus he knew ridiculously easy when one had Occlumency shields guarding their mind. 

He put down the empty glass on the desk and sighed. It was very late, just brushing against two in the morning and he knew he had to go to sleep if he wanted to function normally the next day. The worry was still gnawing away at his stomach like black poison trying to kill him, but he paid it no mind as he got up to his feet and cast a meaningful look towards Lucius. 

"Good night, Lucius," he said drily. "Do not forget about the meeting tomorrow," he warned him, then slipped from the study gracefully. 

Lucius Malfoy let out a relieved breath. 

* * *

Harry Potter was tired. 

He had tried to decipher the reason behind the sweets and especially the chapter about the Horcruxes, and had gone to sleep when birds started chirping, so when he woke up a few (not enough) hours later to Hedwig's incessant hooting, he groaned and pulled the silk covers on his head. He tried ignoring his bird, but when she started to flail about the room, Harry was forced to open his eyes. 

He did not, however, expect to be met with the enormous head of an even bigger snake. His heart jumped in his ribcage and he immediately sat up and rubbed at his eyes, seeing whether he was only hallucinating. 

**_"You smell scared, hatchling,"_ **the snake said then, lifting its head a bit higher. It seemed harmless, though, the slitted eyes roaming over his form curiously. ** _"You're also very skinny. I will have to ask Master to fatten you up…"_** it hissed, seemingly in deep thought, if a snake could even do that. Harry blinked at its blurry form, then reached to the night desk next to the mahogany bed and put on his glasses. 

**_"Who are you?"_** he asked curiously, ignoring the never-ending hooting from Hedwig. The way his pet always wanted to keep him safe warmed his heart, but the loud screeching made his ears positively bleed. 

_**"My name is Nagini,"**_ she responded, sliding closer to him and gently nudging her head against his ribs. Harry tried not to flinch. _**"Your bones are sticking out, hatchling."**_

 _ **"Yeah, uh, thanks,"** _Harry replied, feeling the deep red embarrassment creeping up his cheeks ** _. "Do you mind closing your eyes while I'm changing?"_ **he asked awkwardly. The snake gave what Harry thought was a bark of laugh, but obeyed. 

Harry hurried to his trunk and dragged a t-shirt and some jeans on, both too big for his skinny frame, as they were once Dudley's clothes. Thinking of Dudley made him think of the Dursleys and his throat tightened painfully. He wondered what happened to them, after all Voldemort had said he didn't kill them. That couldn't be a lie, could it? Harry was sure the Dark Lord would boast about murder. But if he didn't kill them then what had happened? It was eerily quiet in the house when they had Apparated away. He tried ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach as he put on his favorite socks — they were Gryffindor-colored — but to no avail. 

Yes, the Dursleys hated his guts and it wasn't as if Harry was fond of them, but did he want them to die? No, probably not. Although seeing Dudley with a literal pigtail had certainly been amusing, wishing someone to get their limbs transfigured into an animal's bits was a lifetime away from wishing someone's death. How would Harry be any different from his despicable relatives? 

Nagini's gentle hissing tore him out of his musings as she said, ** _"Can I look now, little hatchling?"_**

_**"'Course,"**_ Harry muttered. **_"And don't call me that, for Godric' s sake!_** " he snapped angrily, glaring at the reptile. 

_**"I will call you however I please,"**_ she stated, her voice flat. Could snakes' voices even be flat?, Harry wondered. **_"Someone's coming."_**

Harry stared at her with a confused glint in his eyes, however, sure enough, a few moments later there was a knock on the door. His mouth went suddenly dry. What if it was Voldemort? But then again, would he really knock? 

Harry walked over to the door and wrapping his fingers around the handle he tentatively opened it, only enough to stick his head out. Draco Malfoy was standing there looking as if he'd rather stand anywhere else — even the Gryffindor Common Room —, a deep frown etched onto his pointy features as always. The crease in his eyebrows was so familiar to Harry he almost laughed; Malfoy never looked at him without a frown, sneer or grimace being present. 

"Potter," began the blond boy, "your presence is requested in the dining room," he continued with a grit of his teeth. 

"What? Why?" Harry stared at him. He had figured last night before falling asleep that Voldemort would just let him starve away from existence. 

"Are you not familiar with the concept of eating breakfast?" Malfoy snapped. Harry did not want to point it out to him that other than Hogwarts, no, he wasn't familiar with the notion as his relatives had never let him eat with them even when he was younger. "The Dark Lord has explicitly asked for you to come down, so if you would hurry up before he hangs my severed head on the front gate of the manor, that would be much appreciated," he added, the impatient tone clear in his deep voice. 

"Uhm, alright," Harry muttered. So Voldemort wanted to throw an Avada Kedavra at him at the breakfast table? That was sick, even for a Dark Lord. Harry glanced back to the room and noticed Nagini curled up in the centre of his bed, looking content, with her eyes closed and Hedwig on his pillow not far from her, now calm. He gnawed on his lower lip before he opened the door wider and stepped into the hallways. Malfoy looked at him with a bamboozled facial expression. "What?" 

"Potter, I— Shoes. Put on some shoes," the blond said and massaged his temples. It was evident to Harry that Malfoy really didn't want to be dealing with him. Not that the feeling wasn't mutual, of course… 

After successfully sliding on his trainers, they made their way down what seemed countless corridors. Harry stopped counting and paying attention after the seventh one. The manor seemed to be huge, naturally, that was to be expected. Harry had always thought Malfoy was a git when he brought up his family's financial status, and while the feeling didn't magically change, Harry noted with slight bitterness that Malfoy could back up all of his claims. Which, really, was a shame since Harry had thought out some very creative insults to throw at him. Not like this, though, going on a fucking expedition just to get to the dining room, and with the looking threat of Voldemort hanging over his head. Harry figured that getting out of the manor was far more important than continuing some school rivalry during the summer. 

Somehow, Voldemort seemed even more real now that Harry had noticed some changes, and the raven-haired teenager wasn't happy about it. He had hoped that something must have gone wrong with the awful potion in the graveyard, somehow killing Lord Voldemort. His hopes only got higher and stronger when the Dark Lord hadn't turned up anywhere even as the school year neared. Obviously, Harry couldn't have been more wrong. 

Once they got there, Harry's fingers curled around his wand reflexively.

Voldemort was sitting at one end of the table, an empty chair on his right side and Lucius Malfoy on the chair on his left. Bellatrix, who was glaring at him earnestly, was sitting next to Narcissa and Malfoy sat down in between his parents. The other two seats on the opposite side of the table were already occupied by people he didn't know and so he gulped and gritted his teeth together. Hand around his wand he strutted towards the remaining seat, his jaw set defiantly and a death glare aimed at the occupants of the room. He slammed himself down onto the chair, back set rigidly straight. Bellatrix muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'Blasted kid, could just throw a little Avada Kedavra right here, he'd deserve it', but Harry ignored her. 

"Good morning, Potter," he said in a silky voice and with a snap of his fingers a few terrified House Elves started serving everyone their breakfast. It seemed to be a full English breakfast and it looked delicious; Harry's stomach growled even though he had willed it not to. "Slept well?" 

"Terrific," Harry ground out. "Especially when that blasted snake of yours decided to show up," he added, even though Nagini had been exceptionally nice. Harry saw movement from the corner of his eyes. He whipped out his wand and cast a Shielding Charm just before the red light could hit him. 

Voldemort took out his own wand and pointed it at the witch whose eyes glistened with a deep fear. A moment later red light shot from the wand and Bellatrix fell to the floor, screaming and twitching violently. 

Harry bit down on his lower lip as he watched her, almost transfixed. It was horrible. He didn't like Bellatrix, knew enough about her to despise her actually, but seeing her writhing on the marble like that made him sick. He tore his gaze away from her body and looked at Voldemort instead. His face was professionally schooled into one of utmost nonchalance, but the clear satisfaction in his eyes gave him away. 

"Perhaps you are going to think before you act next time, Bella, won't you?" Voldemort inquired, finally pulling the curse away. Harry noticed one of the strangers on his side look at Bella with a mix of concern and exasperation. He wondered who he was to her. 

"Forgive me, my Lord," she said breathily, her voice hoarse from all the screaming. "But he was being disrespectful, I merely wished to—" 

"That's quite enough, Bella," the man Harry noticed earlier butted in with a stern voice. 

"Thank you, Rodolphus," Voldemort looked at him sharply. "Keep your wife in line, she might just find herself in the family tomb one of these days," he added off-handedly. Harry had to refrain from gaping openly at him. 

His eyes slid over to his breakfast and he felt his stomach roll despite being hungry. He pushed the plate away and concentrated really hard on not throwing up right then and there. 

Everyone else tensed up but otherwise seemed nonplussed and Harry was horrified. He supposed Bellatrix deserved her punishment in a way, although he didn't quite understand just why she was punished, but still… The nonchalance absolutely baffled him. The only thing keeping him grounded was the fact that Malfoy looked a little green himself, and wasn't just that interesting… One would think he wouldn't he wouldn't be so upset by something like this. He's probably seen worse, hasn't he? 

"Is breakfast not to your satisfaction, Potter?" he asked suddenly, his crimson eyes boring right into his soul. Strangely, his scar didn't hurt, much like it hadn't last night. 

"You Crucioing Bellatrix is not to my satisfaction," he hissed. He stood ubruptly, with a force that almost sent his chair flying back and hurried out of the room. He didn't know where he was going, of course, seeing as he hadn't paid attention when Malfoy was escorting him down. 

He wished he had Sirius to talk to. Or anyone else, really, but especially his godfather. The shaggy haired man always knew how to calm him down, and seeing as his blood was boiling right now he was in need of some serious pacifying. All of the corridors he came upon looked the same, the only thing differing were the portrays. His chest had just started hurting from all the being angry when Nagini slithered up to him. He exhaled a deep breath and looked at her. 

_**"What is troubling you, little one?"**_

Great. Even a snake was calling him small. 

_**"I'm fine,"**_ he snapped angrily. There was a crack-like sound behind him and he whipped around, coming face-to-face with Voldemort. 

"Tell me, Potter, did your muggle relatives use to let you eat breakfast?" Silence. "Thought so. Which brings me to my question as to why exactly you left so rudely?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow. Harry merely stared at him. 

"Why are you doing this?" he asked calmly. 

"Why am I doing what?" 

"First, you kidnapped me and brought me here. Then, you gave me an enormous room with six million windows and let my owl stay with me even though I could have written a letter, and did not bother me once. Now, you're asking me why I didn't eat breakfast. Just what the hell is your agenda?" he growled, pointing his wand at the Dark Lord. He felt his scar sting a bit but kept looking Voldemort dead in the eyes nonetheless. 

"It wouldn't be very Slytherin of me to reveal my intentions, now, would it?" he smirked as Nagini slithered up his body, resting draped across his shoulders. Harry couldn't help but think that the picture of the snake rubbing her head against the man's cheek was rather… Adorable. He hated himself for thinking that. "Have you read the book?" he asked then, refusing to give an answer to the raven-haired teenager's previous question. Harry felt annoyance burn in his chest yet again. 

"I have," came the answer after a few silent moments, cautiously. "Why did you put it there?" he asked warily, his wand still trained on the Dark wizard without swaying. Voldemort raised his eyebrows. 

"Did you at least manage to grasp what Horcruxes are?" he said, leaning against the wall nonchalantly, as if the teenager was not two seconds away from hexing him. 

"I know that Horcruxes are very dark magic. One splits their soul into pieces by murder to live forever," he responded tightly, regretting that he sounded like Hermione. 

"Hm, well, yes, essentially," Voldemort waved a dismissive hand. "Read it a few more times Potter. Try to read between the lines. I'm sure I will see you at lunch. Until then…" He didn't give Harry a chance as he Disapparated with a crack, taking Nagini with him as well. 

Harry was stuck. 

* * *

Grimmauld place was grimy and dark as always. The members of the Order were sitting in the kitchen, trying to tune out the screeching of Walburga Black's portrait. 

Sirius was tired. He hadn't slept well in weeks, an odd feeling clawing away at his chest. He'd tossed and turned in his enormous bed, rumpling the sheets as if he were up to something else, but sleep never came. So there he was sitting with bloodshot eyes, yawning so big he almost tore his mouth, listening to the synchronized high-pitched voices of both his mother and Molly Weasley. It was a total nightmare. 

"Albus, we really ought to get Harry out of that household." That, Sirius could agree with. Even if comprehending full sentences was unusually hard for him at the moment, anything that had to do with Harry was of utmost importance even to his sleep deprived brain. 

"We can't do that, Molly," said Dumbledore, "he's the safest there. Severus hasn't reported back in a few weeks, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named must be lying low for some reason—" 

"Constant vigilance!" Mad-eye Moody barked in. 

"—and so we ought to keep all of our eyes out. Magical or otherwise," he finished, eyes glowing with mirth. 

"We could bring him here, though," Sirius' voice croaked silently. "The house is under a Fidelius Charm, innit? He'd be safe here, too," he grunted. Molly shot him a look that let him know they agreed on something for once. The approval of the woman however did not make him feel any better, nor did it sway Dumbledore. 

"I'm afraid Fidelius Charms can't be trusted," Albus said soothingly. "The blood wards will keep him from harm's way." 

Sirius thought about the tiny boy he'd seen two years prior, in the too-big clothes and sharp cheekbones. Harry was smaller than his peers, Sirius had noticed immediately, and he flinched every time Sirius motioned with his hands while talking. Sirius knew the signs, and he also knew that Dumbledore knew— So why wasn't he doing anything? Fat load of help, blood wards were, if his godson was safe from everyone but his own relatives he was stuck with every summer. 

His eyes met Remus'; he wasn't pacified by the grave look on his best friend's face. 


	3. Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! So sorry for the delay, I just got my laptop back:)) 
> 
> Hopefully you're going to like this chapter!
> 
> The betaing was done by the amazing Zoi (ZoiAeras on ao3)<33
> 
> PS. The chapter is only edited about halfway through so I might go back later and edit some stuff, nothing major though (hopefully).  
> PPS. Also, I forgot to say at the beginning that this is canon divergence after Fourth Year. Sirius lives, the scene at the Department of Mysteries didn't happen and so on so on.  
> PPPS. Harry has a meltdown, so, warning, if that triggers you<3 Sorry for the tiny spoiler, it just felt important to say this.
> 
> Enjoy reading<33

Harry was finally back in his room after half an hour of aimless wandering across numerous corridors. Finding his room was harder than navigating through the maze in the Triwizard Tournament.

Hedwig was sleeping peacefully in her cage, having buried her face under her wing, shielding herself from the bright light spilling into the room from the large windows. But she seemed to be the only one somewhat at peace.

Harry felt lonely. though he supposed it was to be expected. There he was, stranded in  _ Malfoy Manor _ of all places, kidnapped by the bloody  _ Dark Lord _ of all the people, with no one knowing where he was. He wondered whether anyone even checked in on him at Privet Drive, but quickly answered his own question. Why would they? They hadn't done it in the previous years. 

He couldn't help but feel a bitter taste in his mouth at that. 

He often found himself wondering, ever since Hogwarts began, really, about the reason why it was mandatory for him to spend his summers at the Dursley residence. Harry felt especially angry, that despite him not spending all of his previous summers at Privet Drive, he was supposed to be staying there full time this summer—and he would have done that, if Voldemort hadn’t kidnapped him. 

Which, now that he could think more clearly about it, was a ridiculous notion to Harry. 

Where were the freaking blood wards that Dumbledore spent hours and hours going on about? Weren't they supposed to keep him safe? If not from his Uncle's wrath, then at the very least from Voldemort? So just how on Earth had he walked right into the house and taken him? 

Harry bit down on his lower lip and walked closer to the grand windows resting along one wall of the room. They stretched from the floor up until the ceiling and had elegant black frames with carvings in them. Harry liked the spacious feeling it gave to the already gigantic room and he enjoyed bathing in the sunlight pouring through the glass. It was a far cry from the tiny bedroom he had back at his relatives' house and an even further cry from the cupboard under the stairs. Just thinking about the pea-sized space gave Harry the chills and he would rather not think about that part of his life. 

Instead, he opted to distract himself by watching the garden stretching out beneath his windows. The garden was truly magnificent; there were probably thousands of different kinds of flowers just resting on the perfectly mowed, fresh green grass. He wished Hermione was there with him, she would love the roses and narcissuses despite always vehemently denying her love for flowers. She couldn't fool him; Harry had seen her take a sniff from the bouquets Viktor Krum used to get her during fourth year. 

He suddenly noticed a figure sitting in one of the — surely expensive — carefully carved white benches. It was Voldemort. 

The man positively glowed in the sunlight and Harry  _ hated  _ thinking of him as if he was a person. But truth was, mass murderer or not, Tom Riddle was a rather handsome man now that he didn't have gray flesh and had a nose. His thick, black wavy hair rested atop his head perfectly styled, as if it had been charmed to stay that way. He wasn't looking anywhere in particular, at least Harry couldn't see, and Nagini was curled around herself beside him on the bench, her head resting across his lap. Riddle seemed to be absent-mindedly petting her every now and again. It felt weird for Harry to watch them, so he looked away and walked over to his trunk where he kept his books. It was time to start doing homework. 

He was just about to settle down on the bed with the Defence Against the Dark Arts essay he had to write on Dark creatures in Romania, there was a knock at the door. 

He sighed, then carefully put his things on the bed and made his way over to the door with a carefully schooled facial expression. He feared it would be Malfoy — or worse, one of the Death Eaters, but instead he found himself face-to-face with Narcissa Malfoy. The short, elegant woman was levitating a tray with delicious looking food on it and her eyes held a deep warmth to them despite her tight-lipped smile. 

"Hello, Mr. Potter," she greeted, "May I come in?" 

Harry was flustered by the formal tone, but pulled himself together and answered with an unsure, "Sure." 

"I brought you a late breakfast, since you didn't seem to get to eat anything earlier," she said, gently lowering the tray onto the glass table between the two armchairs in the room. Harry almost gaped at her, "I hope I'm not intruding?" she inquired with a raise of her eyebrow that reminded Harry eerily of Professor Snape. 

"Uh, no, not at all, Mrs. Malfoy," he mumbled, sitting down opposite of her and rubbing his toes against each other in his socks, weirdly embarrassed about not wearing shoes, "May I ask what this visit is for?" 

"You need to eat, Mr. Potter. I have a teenage son and he eats like a cow, excuse my language, so it can't be normal for you to skip breakfast," she deadpanned, sliding the tray towards him with an amount of grace Harry guessed only Narcissa Malfoy could have, "That, and I figured you'd like some company. Do tell me if you don't, I can leave and send a House Elf to bring back the plate later." The woman was now wearing a slightly friendlier smile, although still one that terrified Harry. 

"No, it's okay. Thank you for — er, bringing me food. You really didn't have to,  _ really," _ he muttered, picking up a buttered toast and starting to nimble on it. 

"I think I did have to. After all, my sister is the reason you couldn't eat with us in peace," she sighed, "Do not fret, our Lord has punished her as he saw fit already. I'd like to think you won't have any more trouble with Bellatrix. That is, if she knows what's good for her," she said, giving him a sly smile. Harry grimaced. 

"I bet he did." 

"You don't like him very much, do you?" Narcissa asked, giving him a searching look. 

"With all due respect, Mrs. Malfoy, he did  _ kill my parents _ . There isn't much for me to like him for," he glared at the plate in front of him, his throat constricting. 

"Yes, I suppose that'd do it," she conceded, "He's trying his best right now, though, Mr. Potter. Surely you must see that." 

"Ah, yes. Kidnapping me and giving me a blasted book about Dark magic I can't even understand was a jolly good move on his part!" He snorted, then widened his eyes, "Sorry." 

"No harm done," she waved her hand, "I know this isn't what you must have imagined your summer like, and it's understandable that you are upset. But, I'd like you to know that no one is going to harm you in this manor. You're safe here; probably safer than with your relatives since our Lord wouldn't have taken you otherwise, risking being seen by people."

Harry didn't want to tell her that while spending the summer locked in with his school enemy and his archnemesis of a mass murderer wasn't his ideal vision of how a holiday was supposed to go, the last twenty-four hours had probably been the calmest in his entire life so far. 

"I just don't see why anyone would want to follow him," Harry sneered, his Gryffindor bravery suddenly surging through him, "He's nothing but a blood purist madman, who slaughters anything and everything that gets in his way. He requires complete submission and kills anyone who doesn't obey him. And with what common sense? He's a half-blood! Going on his logic, he should have killed himself a long time ago!" Harry fumed. Narcissa simply blinked at him, and the raven-haired boy admired her for it, seeing as his voice had gotten louder with practically every word spoken. 

"Mr. Potter," Narcissa began cautiously, "have you ever talked to a sane Death Eater?" 

"Is there even such a thing?" Harry grumbled. Narcissa looked at him pointedly, but ignored his comment. 

"The Dark Lord  _ isn't  _ the bloodthirsty murderer you make him out to be. Yes, I admit by the end of the First Wizarding War, shortly before you defeated him, something clicked and he went completely mad. But you have to see that the Ministry's way of running our community is not right, either. There are too many ways in which someone could go ratting us out, and then it'd all be over. Muggles aren't forgiving towards the things they do not understand, Mr. Potter —" Harry thought of the Dursleys, "— and saying that the way the Ministry is handling everything is right would be foolish."

"So you're telling me that Voldemort doesn't actually want to eradicate all Muggleborns and Half-bloods?" he cocked an eyebrow skeptically. 

"Yes, that is exactly what I am trying to say," she looked at him, her gaze softening as she saw the crease in his eyebrows. "Mr. Potter, what have you heard about the policies the Dark Lord wants to impose?" 

"Not much," he admitted, "just that he wants to do it in a way that would eventually end up in all-around blood purity among wizards and witches," he muttered darkly, his hand tightening around the piece of toast he was holding, squeezing out the butter. It dripped down his fingers and Harry lapped it up with his tongue then shot a guilty look at Narcissa,, "Also, could you please call me Harry?" 

"Certainly," she answered, then continued, "Harry, you must think logically. True blood purity, after a while, can only be achieved by inbreeding, isn't that right? I'm sure you know what the effects of inbreeding are," she shot him a look, "why would a wizard who seeks power want the people in his country to be all twisted?" 

"Does that mean that Voldemort doesn't actually mind Muggles as long as they're only used to keep magical people from inbreeding in the long run?" he asked, a confused expression latched onto his face. 

"You could put it like that, yes," she conceded, "The idea would essentially be keeping a close watch on Muggles who have Wizarding children— monitoring them, if you will. So that they don't abuse their children because of the accidental magic they do when they are toddlers, but also so that they don't go around telling their friends about the Wizarding World," she finished with a small smile. Harry's eyebrows crawled up almost to his hairline, his toast long forgotten. 

"No offense, Mrs. Malfoy, but do you expect me to actually believe that?" he asked incredulously. "What is this, a  _ joke _ ? It's not even April yet!" he seethed. His blood was boiling with anger, making his body warm with rage and Harry was sure his face was already flushed. Irritation crept up his spine like an ugly poison, hugging him tight and squeezing tighter and tighter as the moments in silence passed. 

"Forgive me, Harry, if I've angered you," she said eventually, "that was not my intention. I should have known you wouldn't have had the means to hear about this beforehand," she blinked, placing her hand on his shoulder for a brief moment before letting go. 

“I  _ refuse  _ to believe Dumbledore would lie to me like this! Yes, he may have kept things from my whole life but this, I refuse to believe.”

“That is your call entirely, Harry,” she said placidly. “Although, if I were you I’d broaden my mind. I often find that one man’s truth is sometimes another man’s lie.”

"Can you go?" he asked suddenly. "I'd like to be by myself." 

"Of course, Harry," she answered, getting up from her spot. "Please, eat." And with that, she slipped out of the too-large room. 

Harry buried his face into his hands, feeling the dampness of his forehead. His skin crawled with a bitter, incredulous feeling. He didn't know what to believe anymore— Was Narcissa telling the truth? But that meant that Dumbledore and all of the others had lied to him his whole life. What the blonde woman had told him could have also been just a ploy to get him to trust them and seduce him over to the Dark side so that he could help them...

He felt too hot and suddenly the room was too small and he couldn't really breathe properly because Dudley's hand-me-down t-shirt felt as if it was three sizes too small and all he wanted was to shed his skin and leave it on the floor. Breathing heavily, with big gulps of air, Harry tried calming himself down, though it seemed he was already beyond the point of coming back. His heart squeezed tightly in his chest, his ribs hurting and his throat constricting painfully against the aggressive, ragged breathing. 

He had already gotten 'episodes', as he liked to call them, like these before but he still didn't quite know where to place them. He didn't want to call them panic attacks because that felt too obnoxious, but he also wanted to stick with Hermione's advice of not invalidating his own feelings. It always felt thick, though— Like a foul poison spreading through his entire body, eating him from the inside and paralyzing him. He'd only ever gotten these after particularly violent interactions with Uncle Vernon, though, never because he felt too angry. 

Harry tried concentrating on regulating his breathing with little success. Everything felt out of place, like the world was expanding and shattering at the same time, coming down on him with all its might— Until it didn't. He felt a strange sense of subtle, but definitely there, sense of calmness washing over him. It was like a gentle breeze of cool air stroking him head-to-toe and he let out a gentle breath of air, not even bothered to think about where it had come from. His scar tingled, the prickly but surprisingly good feeling running down his arms like a dozen of tiny spider legs, painting a contented smile on his face. He handed himself over to it, let it wrap him in its invisible arms and relaxed against the back of the sofa. 

His shirt was damp and it stuck to his back but he didn't mind. He closed his eyes and placed his hand over his heart on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under his fingers; the previous anger all a distant memory in his mind. He didn’t even care enough to question why he had calmed down instantly, out of nowhere.

* * *

_ Harry woke up in the morning feeling well-rested and fresh. It was a weird feeling not to wake up with his scar hurting, so he enjoyed it for as long as he could, laying around in bed with a small, contented smile on his face. The crumpled sheets were pooling around him like a safe cocoon and he buried his face in the soft blankets surrounding him.  _

_ After a while though, he acknowledged that he had to wake up at some point and so with a grumble he tumbled out of bed and walked over to his closet. He quickly pulled on some comfortable pants and a sweatshirt, then walked over to the big windows.  _

_ Outside the sun was shining brightly, the birds were chirping and the grass was green. His smile widened as he stared at the view in front of him; the flower fields stretching widely across the garden.  _

_ Out of nowhere, though, the glass and the view both swayed weirdly and turned into something more dark, more grim. The flowers changed into piles of something Harry couldn't make out at first so he stepped closer and squinted. What he saw, made his stomach roll— They were dead bodies.  _

_ Harry was suddenly standing in the middle of them, blood sticking onto his feet and ankles, the empty eyes of the dead bodies staring up at him. He realized with a start that these weren't strangers, no, not at all— These were all his friends and family. There was Hermione, Professor Dumbledore, Sirius, Remusand everyone of the Weasley family. They were all laying there limp, lifeless, like bloody ragdolls. Harry's throat tightened and as he crouched down, Sirius' eyes popped open. He stumbled back when a greyish black, burnt hand reached out for him and grabbed his ankle.  _

_ "Harry, Harry…" the distorted, hoarse voice of Sirius said as he stared the raven-haired boy dead in the eyes, his gray orbs like crystal-balls, "It's your fault, Harry… We're all dead because of you, because we were protecting you… Harry, Harry…" it chanted. All of a sudden, Sirius’ face morphed into his father’s and something in Harry’s chest squeezed tight. _

_ “You didn’t love us enough to keep us safe, boy,” his corpse-father said, his voice strangely resembling Uncle Vernon’s.  _

_ Harry scrambled back even further, but the corpses seemed to rise and they were now all towering over him in a circle, saying his name and blaming him over and over and over again— _

And then it was over. He woke up with a silent scream frozen on his lips and his whole body sticky with sweat. The feeling of contentment the dream had started with vanished completely, leaving him trembling and aching for something unknown. His throat felt all clogged up and his eyes stung with the tears he was trying to hold back. Corpse-Sirius’ words were still echoing through his mind like an ugly mantra that wouldn’t leave him alone. He hugged his knees to his chest and buried his head into his elbows, sobbing and finally letting the tears free. He wished Sirius was there; he was sure his godfather would come barging into his room as soon as he heard the crying. But Harry was all alone in the Manor — not literally, but it still felt like that. He had no one to confide in, no one to talk to and he hadn’t felt this lonely in a long time; not ever since he’d first gotten his Hogwarts letter. Right now, though, it was as if he were just a tiny piece of dust in the middle of a gigantic room. 

He took another big gulp of air and wiped at his face forcefully with the sleeves of his too-big pyjama shirt. He stared at the opposite wall, his eyes welling up with tears yet again and he let out a little sniff. His chest felt empty and hollow, his arms dangling numbly at his sides and suddenly, the feeling of cool calmness from the previous day washed over him yet again. Harry didn’t know what this was, but he welcomed it wholly and closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. The feeling lingered for as long as he truly calmed down and then slowly dissipated, though Harry didn’t start feeling distressed again. He ran his fingers through his hair and crawled across the bed to his trunk. He dug around for a few minutes before dragging out the Marauder’s Map. He got his wand from under his pillow and muttered, “I uh.. I’m really up to no good.”

The ink on the map, instead of revealing everyone’s whereabouts on the Hogwarts grounds, morphed into elegant letters. 

_ “Mr. Prongs would like to advise the holder of this map to get their grubby hands off it if they don’t know the secret password!”  _

_ “Mr. Padfoot would like to say he, unfortunately, agrees with Prongs.” _

_ “Mr. Moony would like to tell his friends to kindly shut the hell up.” _

_ “Mr. Wormtail would like to ask when Messrs. Prongs, Padfoot and Moony would like to go to dinner.” _

_ “Mr. Prongs would like to say he wants to go down early so he can get a look at Evans.” _

_ “Mr. Padfoot would like to tell Mr. Prongs his one-sided crush is pathetic.” _

_ “Mr. Prongs would like to tell Mr. Padfoot he’s going to whack him if he doesn’t shut up.” _

_ “Mr. Moony would like to, once again, tell his friends to shut up.” _

The ink vanished suddenly and Harry heaved a deep sigh.

He’d already seen the inscriptions thousands of times before ever since Sirius had shown them to him. They were always the same, of course, they never changed, but the reassurance that his father had once said that, had bickered with his friends while making a magical map that basically recorded anything they said near it when they were enchanting it against those who shouldn’t have it— It was enough to ground him. Biting down on his lower lip, he placed the map onto the duvet and then took the moving picture of his parents from the trunk. 

He lay back onto the fluffy, now slightly damp and cool pillow, and hugging the picture to his chest he drifted back into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

He woke up hours later to a House Elf popping in to tell him his presence was requested at breakfast. Harry groaned and dragged the blanket over his head, having a half mind to just skip breakfast if it meant he didn’t have to see all the Death Eaters and especially Voldemort. 

His conversation with Narcissa from yesterday was still fresh in his mind. It would have been nice if what she said was true, however, Harry wasn’t remotely sure about that. She’d tried painting the freaking Dark Lord as some type of misunderstood leader, for Godric’s sake! It was the most ridiculous thing Harry had ever heard and he was roommates with Seamus, who tended to talk about a lot of nonsense. 

Deciding that he wouldn’t want to get hexed just because he didn’t go down to eat (but also because his stomach gave a very loud growl), Harry got up and pulled on some clothes in record time. He quickly finished his bathroom duties, gave Hedwig a kiss and slipped out of his room while combing through his hair with his fingers. After three corridors of aimless wandering he thought about simply sitting down with his back to the wall and wait until someone found him. How was this fucking house so big? 

“Are you lost, young man?” he heard from behind him and he whipped around. The slightly raspy voice belonged to a portrait, someone named Abraxas Malfoy. Harry guessed he must be Draco’s grandfather, or great-grandfather, seeing as he eerily resembled Lucius Malfoy. Scratch that— They looked almost identical. “Fleamont?” the man in the portrait raised his eyebrows upon inspecting Harry more closely. The dark-haired teen frowned.

“Who’s Fleamont?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. 

“Terribly sorry, I must have mistaken you for someone else,” the painting drawls. “Although you look exactly like him, you couldn’t possibly be him. Tell me, young man, are you perhaps a Potter?”

Harry gave him a weird look then carefully answered, “Yes. Why?”

“Ah, it all makes sense now. You must be Fleamont Potter’s grandson,” he said with a sneer. “Damn Light wizard, he was. He was a few years older than me, but I knew him through my parents, you see. Heard he was quite a bit advanced in age when his son, James, I believe, was born. What are you doing here?” he glared suddenly. Harry had to hold back the roll of his eyes. 

“I was kidnapped,” he deadpanned. “Your grandson is in the same year as I am, only, he’s in Slytherin.”

“Of course he is in Slytherin!” the portrait boomed loudly. “No one from the Malfoy family has been sorted into another house since 1265!” he said with a proud smile. Harry ignored the way the old man had totally skipped the part where Harry said he had been kidnapped.

“Of course they haven’t,” Harry grumbled, then blinked back at the portrait again, “Listen, sir, could you please tell me how to get to the dining room? I’m afraid this house is too big for me to find my way around it alone,” he said with an embarrassed smile, scratching the back of his neck. Abraxas Malfoy sneered but got up from his armchair and made a motion with his hand, telling Harry wordlessly to follow him. 

Harry followed the painting through another four corridors, trying his best to memorize the path this time, with little success. When he got to the double door of the dining room, he politely thanked the old Malfoy and made his way inside. The first thing he noticed was the absence of Bellatrix. Other than her, everyone else from yesterday was there, already eating. Harry thought he ought to apologize for being late but decided against it, seeing that he really had no idea where he was going most of the time. It really was not his fault that no one had thought of showing him around properly. 

Today, they left him an open seat between Draco and Voldemort and he did his best not to scowl. He sat down silently and eyed his plate of scrambled eggs for a long moment before picking up his fork and cutting off a small piece. It was a rather large portion and Harry wasn’t really sure he would be able to make his way through it. No one said a word as they resumed eating and Harry was happy he would finally have a nice night's sleep. That was, of course, until Voldemort decided to open his mouth. 

“So, have you read the book, Potter?” he asked, casually popping a cherry tomato into his mouth. 

“Of course. It’s all I’ve done yesterday,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. Rodolphus snorted and tried covering it up with a cough, rather poorly. The man sitting next to him harshly slapped his back a few times and gave him a glare. Voldemort simply cocked an eyebrow but otherwise ignored the two men. 

“Don’t get too cheeky with me,” the Dark Lord warned, “I might not have hurt you during your stay so far but that can change, if you want it to.”

“Oh, do forgive me,” Harry flashed him a sardonic smile and popped another minuscule bite of scrambled eggs into his mouth. Voldemort’s gaze darkened and Harry saw his grip tightening on his fork. Weirdly enough, though, his scar didn’t hurt despite the Dark Lord clearly being in a foul mood. 

“Don’t,” Tom deadpanned. “You really need to read that book. If you can’t find out in the next five days why I’m so adamant about you reading it, then I will help you figure it out. But only if you drop the attitude,” he added as an afterthought. 

“Why, is there a secret love letter for me in it?” Harry smirked. He felt the tension rise in the air at once. Everyone seemed to be holding their breaths and Harry got scared for a second, all of his Gryffindor cheekiness and bravery vanishing. 

His breath hitched as Voldemort leaned closer and whispered right in his ear. 

“You wouldn’t happen to be hoping for that, would you, Potter?”

  
  



	4. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It is I, the Laziest Author on Earth!!
> 
> Thank you for your patience, my lovelies. 
> 
> As it is, school starts tomorrow and I have to move, so September will definitely be a hectic month. I have no idea if I'm going to be able to update at all, but please stick around<3 
> 
> Thank you for the kudos and the wonderful comments so far! Love you all<3

The following few days were a complete and utter disaster. Harry had been so traumatized by what he later realized was the Dark Lord’s attempt at teasing him, that he even stopped going downstairs for meals. That, of course, lasted for only a day before a very disapproving Narcissa Malfoy came and dragged him down for breakfast.

Ever since then, Harry promised never to skip another meal, and he dutifully kept his promise, even after Bellatrix started joining them again. She seemed to have learnt from last time and aside from a few nasty glares, she left him alone. Harry was very grateful, seeing as eating proved to be a tedious task even without a crazy witch sending curses his way every minute.

The food was delicious, of course, there was nothing wrong with the quality of it. The quantity, however, seemed to be Harry’s biggest enemy. He hadn’t managed the finish a full portion yet, but he was getting there, and he was proud of that. Eating normal sized portions was always a problem after spending time with the Dursleys, so he wasn’t surprised with having to ease himself back into eating regularly and heartily. 

Other than mealtimes, Harry had finally taken to exploring the grounds as well as the Manor. He had gotten to know the corridors quite well, and was now able to get to his room without any problems. He had even picked up a habit of going for evening walks in the garden, pretending that he didn’t see Rodolphus and Rabastan who had started acting as his shadows, no doubt having been ordered by Voldemort. Harry had scoffed the first time he’d noticed his ‘bodyguards’. What was he going to do, run away?

Well, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried that already. He’d been rebuffed by the wards surrounding the grounds pretty harshly and spent most of the next day knocked out on his bed. Malfoy had laughed at him for half an hour straight. 

After that incident, he hadn’t made any other attempts at escaping, slowly slipping into an indifferent acceptance of sorts. He spent his days holed up in his room doing homework and trying to figure out what Voldemort meant by marking the chapter about Horcruxes. Well, that was not fully true. It had taken Harry approximately two more days to realize Voldemort must have made a Horcrux, and Nagini had half-heartedly confirmed his theory, but wasn’t willing to tell him more information or divulge some secrets. The snake proved to be good company, to Hedwig’s deep disdain, but Harry ignored her whenever she got into one of her moods. Nagini’s snark was actually quite delightful and he was surprised that snakes had such distinct personalities. 

One of the downsides of spending all of his time cooped up was that he had plenty of time to think. And think he did. He thought about his friends — friends who hadn’t sent him even one measly letter —, Remus, who always gave him chocolates after nightmares, Tonks, who always managed to pain a smile on his face. 

Then, he thought about Sirius. He pictured his godfather's shaggy black hair that came down to his shoulders, the occasional mischievous glint in the otherwise hollow eyes, and the way he was so  _ earnest _ to give Harry the world. Sirius was terrifying; bigger than life itself and Harry missed him so much he could almost feel the physical ache of his godfather's absence. He remembered all those times the Animagus acted like his father, protecting him and doing his best to keep him safe. He hadn't even noticed the tears until they were already falling silently onto his palms. 

He sniffed, taking a big gulp of air as if that would force the tightening of his throat to ease as he grabbed for the photo on his nightstand. It was one that Sirius had given to him shortly before Fifth Year started. His father, Remus and Sirius were grinning into the camera, eyes glinting with mirth Harry was sure only the Marauders could master. It was his favorite photograph of all time, after the one with his parents of course. It was taken in a time when everything was a lot easier. His father was still alive, Sirius hadn’t gone to Azkaban yet and Remus still had his friends to endure every full moon with him. 

A sharp knock at the door tore him out of his musings and he made his way over to the door as he hastily rubbed away at his face. His nose was stuffy and he was sure his eyes were red but he didn’t care at the moment, annoyance flaring up in his chest at whoever decided that bothering him would be a marvelous idea. Opening it, his jaw tightened when he saw Rabastan Lestrange.

“Good afternoon, Potter,” he drawled, thrusting his hand out with an envelope in it. “This came for you. We have already checked it over for curses or anything damaging, and we found nothing so it is perfectly safe for you to open.”

Harry stared at his hand for a long moment before reaching out and taking the letter, careful not to touch the Death Eater’s fingers, just in case. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” Rabastan smiled at him tightly. “Don’t write the address on the reply, should you decide to answer the letter. It wouldn’t do any good, seeing as it would only morph into the location of your Muggle relatives,” he added, stepping back. Harry set his lips in a grim line. 

“Thanks for the heads-up,” he muttered. “Is that all?”

“Yes,” Rabastan nodded. “I will see you at dinner,” he offered as a goodbye before he turned on his heels and stalked down the corridor. 

Harry closed the door with a heavy sigh and went to the bed, tearing the envelope open. In it were two letters, and Harry’s heart leapt in his chest. He knew one was from Ron, but he couldn’t wait to find out who the other one was from seeing as it was ot labeled or anything. He set that one aside and began reading the one from his redheaded best friend.

_ Harry! _

_ Mate, I’m so sorry I haven’t written to you, but Dumbledore’s very adamant about us not sending you letters, thinks they’re going to get intercepted by the Death Eaters  _ (oh, if Ron only knew, Harry mused at that).  _ Things have been bloody hectic here, too. Bill’s getting married! Terribly exciting news, although Mum constantly looks as if she’d bitten into a particularly sour lemon.  _

_ Percy is still an entitled arse, Fred and George are testing out their new line of toys on family members and Ginny has been exchanging letters with Dean fucking Thomas. Can you believe it?! _

_ Another good news is that Charlie’s coming home! I wish you could be here to meet him, mate, he’s quite fond of you. Although he keeps saying you two are going to meet up so I shouldn’t worry… I don’t really get that. Do you? _

_ Anyway, the reason why this letter is probably, hopefully, early, is because Errol’s been in a very bad shape for the past few weeks and I wasn’t sure how long it would take for him to deliver it. Happy Birthday, mate! Have a good one and ‘Mione and I are going to give you your present on the train. It would be too risky to attach it to the ruddy old owl now.  _

_ Cheers, see ya soon, _

_ Ron _

  1. _‘Mione is sending her best wishes and hopes you’re not too behind on your schoolwork. Barmy girl, I’m telling you._



Harry finished reading the letter with a soft smile and folded the parchment in half before gently placing it in the secret pocket of his trunk. He missed Ron and his endless ramblings about his family. Harry was glad his best friend had broken the rules and written him. He then turned towards the other piece of parchment on his bed and unfolded it with a curious glint in his eyes. 

_ Harry, _

_ I’m sorry I can’t be there for your birthday. It’s a real shame, because I was hoping I could dump a bucket of ice-cold water onto you as a wake-up call. I used to do that to your father, you know. Though, there is always next year… _

_ Happy birthday, Harry. I hope you’re doing as well as you can in your situation and that you don’t resent me too much for not being able to get you out of that household, the way I wish I could do so. I miss you, and I can’t wait for you to walk Padfoot to the station.  _

_ Now, onto the gossip! Remus is a bloody traitor and shacked up with Tonks. It took the poor girl a good six months to get a date out of him and now Remus is sending me daily, extremely panicked letters about how he’s going to fuck up whatever relationship they have. I thought him and I were going to be single forever out of solidarity, you know… The lone wolf and the old dog. I guess there goes our resolution down the drain… Fucking werewolves.  _

_ To tell you the truth, Harry, Dumbledore seems restless. Now, I don’t want to be a worrywart, but it’s very suspicious to me. He’s been canceling more and more Order meetings lately, and Minerva tells me he spends quite a lot of his time out of the country. I’m sure he’s on some mission he wants to keep a secret, but watch out, just in case.  _

_ Take care of yourself, Harry, and don’t be afraid to threaten Pig Sr. and Pig Jr. I trust Horseface not to be much of a nuisance, right? _

_ Love, _

_ Padfoot _

Harry snorted at the goodbye and bit down on his bottom lip. He missed his godfather more, now that he had read the letter, but at the same time he was glad Sirius had thought of him. It was easy to forget his birthday, seeing as in a house full of Death Eaters Harry would rather worry about getting murdered in his sleep rather than be anxious whether he’d get a cake tomorrow or not. He placed Sirius’ letter in the pocket he’d previously put Ron’s, and deciding to put off answering until tomorrow, he stretched and walked over to Hedwig’s cage.

The snow-white owl was sitting elegantly, blinking at her with her great yellow eyes. Harry slowly ran a finger through the feathers on her head and she hooted happily, nuzzling her beak against his palm. Harry smiled and bent, softly kissing her head, which Hedwig, albeit a bit reluctantly, allowed him to do. Harry guessed she was in such a good mood since Nagini hadn’t made an appearance that day yet, otherwise she would have bitten him if he tried getting closer like this. 

Casting a glance at the clock on the wall, Harry saw that it was a little past half five, which meant that he still had at least an hour and a half before dinner. He quickly pulled a hoodie and his trainers on before slipping from the room and going to explore the manor’s parts he hadn’t been to yet. He started with the slightly dubious looking corridor down to the right of the Founders’ room. He stared at the multiple landscape paintings, watching in awe the way the gentle breeze seemed to caress through the leaves of the magnificent trees. He smiled a soft smile and thought else was worth looking at on this particular corridor, when he noticed a massive, heavy-looking door. He frowned, and stepping closer his hand hovered above the doorknob. He knew there must be a reason why it was closed, but seeing as it didn’t seem to be locked nor were there any sounds coming out of the room, he let his curiosity take over his survival instincts and pushed it open.

Whatever bloody difficult and efficient Silencing Charm had been placed previously, dissolved as soon as Harry opened the door. The shrill, pathetic screaming pierced his ears and he scrunched up his nose.

The room was empty, save for the long table in the middle. Voldemort was standing on the right side of it, a plump man writhing in pain at his feet. Harry recognized the red of the Cruciatus Curse, but as he was about to (stupidly) shout for the Dark Lord to release the man, he recognized him. It was Peter Pettigrew, the  _ loyal servant _ who had betrayed his parents and helped Voldemort regain his body at the end of the Triwizard Tournament. Suddenly, Harry shut his mouth tight, despite the rolling of his stomach and the guilt that gnawed away at his conscience. This was  _ Wormtail.  _ He  _ deserved  _ it. Didn’t he?

“ _ Potter _ !” he heard the sharp hiss of Tom Riddle’s scratchy voice as the screaming stopped. “ _ What _ are you  _ doing  _ here?” he demanded, whipping around and facing him with a glare. Harry could feel his scar throbbing, and he grunted softly, reaching up to press his fingers against the lightning bolt as if it would help ease the pain of Voldemort’s wrath. 

“Apologies for stumbling over your very well-hidden torture chamber,” he gritted out, glaring right back at the Dark Lord. The man huffed out a breath, and finally after a few minutes Harry felt the sharp pain ease into a dull throb; the cooling tingle doing wonders all over his forehead. He furrowed his eyebrows; he really had to find out where that tingle came from. 

“I was just having a little bit of fun, you see,” he smiled wryly. “Lucius, we are going to have to talk about the efficiency of your Locking Charms,” he said unimpressed, turning to the pale Death Eater. 

“What Locking Charms?” Harry furrowed his eyebrows. “I could just walk right in here.” Voldemort cocked a perfectly trimmed eyebrow. 

“I apologize, my Lord,” Lucius said, hastily dropping onto his knees. “I will be more careful next time.”

“You shall, Lucius, you shall…” Voldemort trailed off. He cast a glance at the lump in front of him. Pettigrew twitched every few seconds. Harry was sure he was going to be sick. “Bella, my dear, if you would be so kind as to escort our guest back to his room,” he smiled sinisterly at the curly-haired woman. 

“What are you going to do to him?” Harry asked, his blood boiling with anger. Yes, he absolutely loathed Wormtail, but did he really want him to die? Wouldn’t that make him just as worse as the Death Eaters in the room?

“Whatever  _ shall  _ I do to him, Potter? Any ideas that have crossed your terribly young and fragile mind, perhaps?”

“You would know all about my mind,” Harry snorted, “seeing as you’ve been snooping around in it all year,” he glowered. 

“Surely you are not waiting for my apology,” Voldemort smiled icily. “Right, then. Bella?”

“Certainly, my Lord,” she responded, striding over to Harry and grabbing his elbow. He snatched his arm right out of her grip and redirected his glare at her. She merely rolled her eyes at him. “Come on, Potter!” she barked at him before turning sharply out of the room. 

Walking with Bellatrix was an… experience, to say the least. Although Harry was roughly as tall as her, he had to almost jog to keep up with the brutal pace of the insane witch. He could see Bellatrix’s jaw struggle to keep her mouth closed. Harry was sure she would have a thing or two she wanted to tell him — or maybe throw a curse or two at him — but she remained silent all the way through until they eventually reached his room. 

“I know no one has punished you yet for wandering about the manor,” Bellatrix started when they finally arrived at the door, “but you would do well not to stick your nose in matters that are none of your concern, Potty,” she mocked. 

“Why would I want to crash a Death Eater meeting? Afraid I’m going to run away and divulge all the nasty secrets to Dumbledore?” he sneered, his hand tightening on the knob until his knuckles turned white. Bellatrix snorted, twirling her wand between her long fingers. 

“We don’t need you for that,” she cackled, stepping away and wiggling her fingers at him. “See you later, Potty.”

Back in his room, Harry read the chapter about the Horcruxes again and again, trying to find a clue that went beyond the fact he was sure Voldemort had Horcruxes. He knew from the book that Horcruxes were a nasty piece of magic, often draining the wizard or witch so badly, they had to spend several days resting. Other than that, Harry learned about the process of making a Horcrux — which wasn’t pleasant either. He couldn’t, for the life of him figure out what else Voldemort wanted. Why had he even indirectly shared such delicate information? Harry knew about the prophecy, the one that said he would be the only one able to vanquish the Dark Lord, and so he was sure Voldemort knew, too. So why would he practically hand over the tool that would eventually lead to his weakening, if not murder? Harry was so, so confused. He wished he had Hermione there with him, he was sure the young witch would have found out in three days.

Then, he tried focusing on his homework instead, but gave up after he noticed the headache forming behind his eyes. He lay down on the massive bed and curled around one the fluffy pillows and closed his eyes. A while later, a weight settled on him, although it wasn’t all that heavy. He cracked an eye open, although after seeing green scales he happily buried his face further into the pillow. 

“You’re warm, little hatchling,” Nagini hissed, resting her head somewhere near Harry’s neck. 

“‘Sokay, you can stay if you want,” he mumbled, his words slurring together as he slowly faded into sleep. 

A while later, he awoke to a House Elf telling him dinner was ready and that Nagini had already left. He stretched for a few minutes, figuring that being late to dinner wasn’t such a big deal, then pulled his hoodie over his head and headed downstairs to the dining hall. 

There, he found the usual people, with the addition of Bellatrix. Well, at least she wasn’t glaring at him anymore. No one said anything as he sat down and helped himself to some pasta — which was delicious —, eating in small, measured bites. After a while, conversation started to pick up and for a moment Harry was afraid they would discuss that week’s murders or raids, and was pleasantly surprised to hear about mundane things like how the peacocks were ready for sale. He hadn’t even known the Malfoys had peacocks, much less that they were for sale… Surely the Malfoy wealth couldn’t come only from selling temperamental birds to witches and wizards who didn’t know better? Were peacocks kept as pets in pureblood wizarding families, or was it only a quirk of Lucius and the people who bought peacocks from him? Harry was thoroughly confused. 

Just as Harry was about to dig into his treacle tart, Voldemort looked up at him, “Potter, our lesson is immediately after dinner. I’m going to help you with that book since it’s crystal clear you’re not up for the job.”

“I thought the offer got canceled automatically after five days,” he grumbled, putting his fork down, his appetite leaving him suddenly. “I don’t want to spend more time in your presence than it’s necessary,” he spat. 

“And you won’t,” said Voldemort placidly. “This impromptu studying session is very much necessary, Potter. Don’t go around thinking I want to spend so much time with you as company.”

“I wasn’t thinking that,” muttered Harry. “But fine. I’m not going to make it easy on you, though.”

“I’d be worried if you did,” said Voldemort, a sardonic smile gracing his lips. 

Now, Harry’s appetite was truly and fully gone without a trace. What a shame, it was such a delicious looking tart, too...

After dinner, Harry found himself in the room in the corridor down to the right of the Founders’ room. Now that he didn’t have a screaming Peter Pettigrew to distract him, Harry finally noticed the numerous paintings on the walls. Creepily enough, they were all paintings of various famous Dark Wizards. The only one that didn’t move, though, was that of Gellert Grindelwald. Harry wondered whether Voldemort kept them as a motivation to be even more evil and cruel than all of them together. It was a creepy notion, but then again Harry wouldn’t be surprised if that really was the case. 

Voldemort was right behind him, watching him examine the room patiently. Harry’s fingers were curled around the wand resting in his pocket, despite Voldemort not even threatening him with cursing him. Better safe than sorry, Harry supposed. 

When he got fed up with the slurs the portraits kept throwing at him, he turned around to face the current Dark Lord. 

“So? Are we going to get on with it or do you plan to force me to stay here all night long?”

“Ah, the impatience of youth,” Voldemort drawled while gesturing at the long table in the middle of the room. He sat down at one end, with Harry opting to sit at a reasonable distance from him now that he didn’t  _ have  _ to sit next to Voldemort. “Right. So, tell me, Potter, what have you managed to gather from the book?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“I know you have made a Horcrux,” he said. “I don’t know what that has to do with me, though. I’m trapped here, I can’t possibly be stupid enough to try to run away again. Last time I was unconscious for several hours,” he grumbled. To Harry’s horror, Voldemort actually snorted. 

“I shall think you aren’t dumb enough to do that. One simply can’t know with Gryffindors, now, can they?” Harry was absolutely horrified at the grin the Dark Wizard was sporting. “What  _ can  _ one make into Horcruxes ?”

“Legally speaking, one  _ can’t  _ make a Horcrux,” Harry muttered with a glare, his hands fidgeting, “but if we are going to ignore that slight problem, then only inanimate objects can be made into Horcruxes. A living creature cannot be a Horcrux.”

“And that, Potter, is where you are  _ wrong _ ,” Voldemort said, growing serious. 

“But the book said—”

“The book lied!” Voldemort roared. “Or, the author wasn’t as knowledgeable in the art of Horcruxes as he would have liked to believe,” he gritted out angrily. Harry noticed Nagini slither up to her master, hissing something Harry couldn’t hear into his ear. Voldemort's stance changed almost instantly, his tense shoulders dropping after a calming exhale of air. 

“Right, so you’re telling me you have a living Horcrux,” Harry said, his eyebrows furrowing. 

“Excellent deduction, Potter. Fifty points to Gryffindor,” came the sarcastic reply. “Think harder, you’re on the right track.”

But Harry couldn’t. His brain felt all mushy, as if all of his brain cells had been Vanished. He was so thoroughly confused. Why was Voldemort telling him this? He was practically handling his secret weapon over to Harry, as if he wished to die at the teen’s hand. But then again, Voldemort had only divulged a minimal amount of information, just enough so that Harry’s mind would start raking through possibilities. Was Nagini the Horcrux? Surely she wasn’t; Voldemort wouldn’t give him a practically free pass to kill his pet. No, the living Horcrux had to be something… Or someone, Harry wouldn’t want to kill. So, who could it be?

“That night,” Voldemort started after a few moments of heavy silence, “the night I killed your parents because of the prophecy I’d heard, something happened. You survived the Killing Curse, Potter, but how?”

“My mother’s love,” Harry glowered. “Something you would know nothing about. She sacrificed herself for me, her love so grand that it made the curse rebound and hit you instead!” he said, hands twitching in his lap. 

“Why do you think you can talk to snakes, Potter?” Voldemort asked, ignoring Harry’s answer and tone of contempt. 

“Wizards and witches get gifts, sometimes, don’t they?” he grumbled, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “There doesn’t have to be a reason for me to be able to talk to snakes.”

“Indeed… But don’t you think it’s strange? The fact that not only are our wands brothers, but we also have the same Magical Gift?” Voldemort asked, staring right into Harry’s eyes. The raven-haired boy felt as if he was staring right into the core of his soul. “Dumbledore hasn’t told you the entire truth about yourself, or that night, for that matter, Potter. To trust that old, barking crazy man is the stupidest thing you could do.”

“You’re only saying that because he’s the only wizard that could kill you. You’re afraid of him.” 

Voldemort let out a chilling, cold cackle. 

“The only wizard who could kill me? No, Potter,” he shook his head. “You’re the only wizard who could kill me. Although, you have something of mine that certainly makes it a rather difficult task,” he admitted, stroking his hand up and down Nagini’s head. Not lovingly, though. Never lovingly. 

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” Harry snapped. “You kidnap me, treat me actually well but then you give me a book and keep telling me some fucked up riddles, going around in circles and never telling me what it is you have to say! So don’t waste both of our time, and just spit it out already!” he shouted, standing up from his seat with such force it almost sent the chair flying backwards. 

“Sit down, Potter,” Voldemort hissed harshly. 

“I’m not sitting the fuck down!”

“Fine, you absolutely horrid, petulant child,” came the answer with a snarl. It reminded him strangely of Professor Snape, not that Harry wanted to think about the dungeon bat in a situation like this. “Just think, Potter.  _ You have something of mine. _ ”

Harry stood in silence for a few moments, his brows furrowed, then it suddenly  _ clicked _ . 

“You’re my Horcrux, Potter.”

  
  
  
  
  



	5. Sirius Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> Huh, it's been a while, but you know how it is. Life can be a bitch sometimes, but here I am, with a new chapter, and hopefully I won't have to disappear for so long before the next one lol
> 
> To anyone who stuck around, thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy the new chapter!
> 
> Apologies in advance for any spelling mistakes and such.
> 
> xoxo

Hot-white rage burned through his being, taking him apart piece by piece. 

He’d felt angry before, plenty of times, but it was nothing like the all-consuming murderous feeling that took over his body. His ears were ringing, and he felt his magic curling around his fingers. He heard something shattering in the background, followed by the unapproving tuts coming from the portraits in the room. 

He stared at Voldemort. 

“Get it out of me,” he gritted, clenching his hands into tight fists at his side. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Potter,” Voldemort drawled. Harry was seething, seeing red; his clothes feeling suddenly like they were on fire, burning his skin. 

“You’re lying,” Harry growled. “There wasn’t anything about living things made into Horcruxes in the book! I can’t- Can’t be your fucking Horcrux!” 

“Because I am possibly the only person who has ever managed to make a living Horcrux, Potter, use your brains,” Voldemort said with a glare. 

“How do you know it wouldn’t work, then?” he hissed, hearing something new shatter behind him. He didn’t particularly care what it was, but he still hoped Narcissa wouldn’t hang him if it was one of her seemingly extremely expensive vases. 

“I assume you wouldn’t survive to tell the tale of getting a piece of soul taken out of you,” Voldemort grumbled. “Do you think I’m enjoying this? I can’t kill you, Potter. It is rather troublesome, I assure you.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault you can’t fucking murder me? Do I need to remind you just whose bloody Horcrux this is? You were the one who made it, so you must know how to reverse all this!”

“I didn’t exactly… Do it on purpose, you see,” the older wizard admitted. “I am fairly certain it had to do something with the Killing Curse that rebounded when I tried killing you.”

Harry heard the cruel, high-pitched laugh over his mother’s screams and he saw the bright green flash again. He clenched his jaw, feeling his sharp nails digging into his palm, drawing blood— yet, all of that felt minuscule compared to the trembling of his every limb. He glared up at the Dark Lord one last time before turning on his heels and storming off from the room. He didn’t know how much time it took him to get back to his room, but by the time he arrived, his hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold his wand to toss it onto the bed. 

Hedwig hooted anxiously from her cage, watching Harry with big, concerned yellow eyes. The raven-haired boy didn’t pay her any mind though as he moved towards the desk and downed a glass of water, the glass refilling itself. It didn’t help much, so Harry tried to ground himself by inhaling big gulps of air and focusing on his feet planted on the ground. He counted to seven as he inhaled and six as he exhaled, shutting his eyes tightly. After a few moments, his erratic heartbeat seemed to calm down a great deal, and his ears weren’t ringing anymore. 

He walked over to the couch and plopped down onto it, throwing his head back against the back of the sofa. Voldemort’s words were echoing in his mind.  _ You’re my Horcrux, Potter. _

But what exactly did that mean, anyway? How did it change anything, really? After all, Harry had lived with the Horcrux inside of him since he was one. How much of his persona was the Horcrux, and how much was the real Harry? Was there even any difference between the two of them, or had the Horcrux influenced him so much over the years that it couldn’t even be a separate being? Harry groaned. 

God, how he wished Sirius and Remus were with him. His godfather would simply offer some Firewhiskey, sure — he was horrible at heart-to-hearts —, but Remus would probably give him a pained smile and a big speech about how Harry was his own person and the Horcrux didn’t matter, because it had been there already, they just didn’t know it. He missed them so much. He gritted his teeth against the ache of homesickness he had for a home he didn’t have, and flexed his fingers. Hedwig hooted softly from her corner and Harry extended his arm towards her, the snow-white owl flying onto his biceps almost instantly, She nuzzled her beak into his messy locks and Harry exhaled slowly.

He tried concentrating on Hedwig’s claws digging into his skin from where she was perched onto his shoulders, the feel of the tip of her beak poking him in the top of his head and her cloud-soft feathers brushing against the nape of his neck. The warmth emitting from his bird helped ground him and he slowly felt the pain from his chest becoming lighter and lighter as the minutes passed. It was only a few moments later when he realized the tingling travelling down from his scar towards the numbness in his limbs, revitalizing them in a kind, fairy-like way. He frowned, starting to think. 

Why was the tingling feeling always coming from his scar? Wasn’t that the same scar that Voldemort had used in order to implement terrible, frightening nightmares in Harry’s mind since fourth year? But if the curse scar was a connection to Voldemort, then that meant一 That meant that Voldemort was essentially the one who had calmed Harry for the past few weeks every time things got too much. And wasn’t that just the weirdest concept? Perhaps for the first time since having been told he is a wizard, Harry Potter got truly and utterly surprised. He didn’t have much time to dwell on the revelation, though, as he heard a forceful knock on the door. 

He sighed, getting up and shooing Hedwig away as he moved to open the door. There, behind it stood the youngest Malfoy, wearing a scowl so deep Harry was afraid it would give the blond premature wrinkles. 

“What can I help you with?” Harry asked, arching an eyebrow. Malfoy started squirming in an awkward, undignified way that almost made Harry snort. He decided against doing that, though, in favor of hearing whatever it was that Malfoy needed.

“The Dark Lord sent me to make sure you hadn’t wrecked your room to the ground,” he replied, with a surprising touch of calmness in his cold voice. “I don’t know what happened, but I am very, very keen on following orders, so here I am. Ready to listen to the concerns and problems of one Harry Potter.”

“You’re ready to listen to whatever bothers your arch-nemesis?” Harry asked, confused but still stepping aside so Malfoy could enter his quarters. 

“Potter, the Dark Lord would be very offended if he knew you called me your arch-nemesis. Out of the two of us, isn’t he the one who is trying to actively kill you?”

“Was. Was trying to actively kill me,” Harry replied softly, letting the doors close back again as he watched Malfoy walk over to the sofa. The blond boy plopped down and arched an eyebrow, motioning beside himself, telling Harry to sit down.    
  
Harry was getting dizzy. He suspected the happenings of the last three weeks had just begun to catch up with him, like an unwanted cold shower. His head felt heavy, his eyes burned and Draco Malfoy was sitting with his legs open on a couch that belonged to the Malfoy Manor, where he was currently imprisoned. He was a Horcrux, and Voldemort was calming him through their connection whenever things got too much by sending tingly weird magic that had a cooling effect. For a moment, Harry thought he was going to keel over. Right there, in front of smirking, pointy-Malfoy.    
  
“Potter?” Malfoy asked, his face scrunched up. “Are you quite alright?” There was something akin to worry in his voice, but Harry couldn’t be too sure about it. Was Malfoy even capable of feeling real feelings? 

“I will be, just as soon as I wrap my head around all of this,” Harry muttered while stumbling across the room to sit down, still feeling a bit faint. 

“Understandable. I imagine waking up to Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself breaking into your home would be fairly unexpected,” Malfoy said placidly. Harry was getting annoyed with the way the blond boy seemed so calm and collected. It was so unlike him, Harry wondered for a moment whether he was really Malfoy, or someone else in disguise. 

“More like absolutely barmy.”

“If one wishes to be crass,” the blond inclined his head, though his hands were twitching weirdly, clenching and unclenching his fingers around his wand.

“Why are you being decent?” Harry asked suspiciously, staring at Malfoy as though he would pounce any minute. Harry cursed himself for having thrown his wand on the bed when he had entered his room, uncomfortable with the fact that his fingers weren’t curled around it. He was alone with the blond git who’d tormented him for years, Harry wasn’t really expecting to come out of this situation without at least one altercation. The way Malfoy tried to act so dignified, as if he was a licensed Mind Healer commissioned to pick at Harry’s brain and determine what was wrong with him, rubbed Harry the wrong way. “Don’t you have innocent Muggles to torture in your cellars?” He hadn’t meant to say that at first, though it had definitely been a thought swimming around in his head for a few minutes now. He didn’t want to provoke Malfoy unnecessarily, not when he had other, far more worrisome things to be worrying about. Like the fact that he was actually held hostage at Malfoy Manor and no one even knew about it. How had they even managed to pull that off was beyond Harry.    
  


Malfoy’s eyes darkened, a ghost of the sneer Harry was used to washing over his face for a fraction of a second before vanishing. There was a dark fire gleaming in his eyes. “But of course I do, Potty. Just finished Crucioing a redhead Muggle that looked eerily similar to your own mother when the Dark Lord summoned me. I’m terribly sorry, would you have liked to watch?” he growled, his patience visibly thinning and eventually snapping. It took Harry a few seconds to actually realize what the blond boy had said, seconds during which Malfoy froze, seemingly knowing he had stepped a bit far. The glass near Malfoy shattered into little bits, a few even hitting him, but Harry didn’t care. 

All the feelings of anguish, hopelessness and sorrow that had been building up inside of him for weeks suddenly seemed too much to bear. He felt his magic gathering around at the tip of his fingers, if he would only just flick them in Malfoy’s direction, then—

A loud pop! interrupted them. A terrified, big-eyed House Elf was looking at them with fear, playing with her fingers. 

“Pipmey is being sent by the Dark Lord to fetch Mr. Harry Potter and Master Draco Malfoy,” she squeaked. “The Dark Lord is being waiting for them in the Abraxas Malfoy Room in the North Wing,” she finished in a high voice. Harry didn’t even have a chance to thank her, despite his anger, or be properly weirded out by the fact that the Malfoys had a room named after Lucius’ father, before Pipmey popped away. 

“Come, Potter.” Malfoy was already standing by the time he finished barking out his order. Harry felt another wave of annoyance flare up with him, and would have liked to tell the git to shove his orders up his ass, but decided against it, because upon closer inspection Malfoy seemed actually scared for his life.  _ Well, serves him right, _ Harry thought bitterly. No one could hide from karma, after all. 

They practically floated through the endless mass of corridors with the way Malfoy was rushing to get there. Harry found he almost couldn’t keep up with the long legs, and had had to ask Malfoy to slow down several times, although his pleas met deaf ears. 

They got to the Abraxas Malfoy Room in under five minutes, Malfoy breaking out in a sweat and Harry’s lungs screaming for oxygen. He was sure the Slytherin boy wasn’t sweating because getting to the room had been so tedious, which was indeed weird, considering Harry had never actually realized how athletic Malfoy was. But that was neither here, nor there, he realized, as they stepped inside the gigantic room. 

Harry noted that he had never been here before, so the room was probably not the one being used for Death Eater meetings. He would have liked to appreciate the sheer brilliance of the art hanging on the walls, were it not for the sight that greeted him. Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange were holding a shaggy black-haired man bound between themselves. The man was Harry’s godfather. 

Sirius Black. 

Harry thought his heart might have stopped for a minute when their eyes met, and then his arm shot to his pocket to grab his wand almost reflexively, only, it was empty. Dread climbed its way up his spine, spreading through his whole body. They were going to kill Sirius, and make him watch it without even having a wand to try to protect his godfather, he was sure of it. Had this been the plan all along? 

“Harry!” Sirius shouted, tearing him away from his panicked musings. “What the fuck are you doing here? You were supposed to be at the Dursleys’! Dumbledore said he visited you on your birthday, when have these— Have they hurt you? Merlin, please, don’t hurt Harry, just hurt me ins—”

Sirius was cut off by Voldemort shooting a Silencing Spell at him. 

“ _ Merlin, _ shut up at once!” he growled. “He’s been talking _ non-stop  _ ever since he got here! How do you keep yourself from bloody hexing him all the time?” he asked Harry, completely bewildered. Harry privately thought Voldemort should be worried about a number of different things, none of them being his godfather’s talking habits. Even if, admittedly, Sirius did talk a lot. 

Harry chose to ignore the question addressed to him. “Let him go,” he hissed. 

“Ah-ah,” Voldemort chuckled, shaking his head. “How did he know you weren’t at home? How have you managed to sneak a letter, telling them everything?” he asked, the dangerous glint in his eyes sending shivers down Harry’s spine. 

“I haven’t,” he answered honestly. “I only wrote one answer to all of them, and that was on my birthday. No one knew I was here.”

“Well then, how in the world did he know he had to look for you?” Voldemort was getting really, really angry by now, if only judging by the pure hatred latched onto his face. Harry wished he knew how to do wandless shield charms. 

“Maybe…” he trailed off, “just maybe, he loved me enough to come check up on me at the only place I could be during summer. You wouldn’t know how that feels, would you, Tom?” He was mortified. He hadn’t meant it for it to sound as provocative as it did, but now there was no taking it back. He had fully prepared to die in those two seconds, but Voldemort merely directed his icy glare towards Sirius, and with a flick of his fingers, gave his voice back.

“Talk!” he barked. Sirius’ face twisted into an expression full of hate and disgust, one Harry had only seen him direct towards Snape. He could understand the reasoning, though. 

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” he spat. 

“Well, then, I guess my green-lighted friend will have to do it. He’s quite quick and painless,” Voldemort said, as if talking about the weather, all the while dragging his fingers up and down his wand in that arrogant manner that made Harry see red from anger. 

“Pads,” Harry cut in, his voice small. “Please.”

Sirius took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak. 


	6. One Man's Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I just want to thank everyone for the overwhelming support on this fic, even with the 3 months long impromptu hiatus I took. Your kind comments, and the kudos motivated me and made my entire week, so for that, I'm forever grateful<3
> 
> This is a filler chapter of sorts, and I apologize for that, although if you squint hard enough, you can see a hint of plot. 
> 
> Also, I realized the chapter titles are absolute trash, so I will be re-naming all of them this weekend lol 
> 
> Enjoy reading<3

_ Grimmauld Place had never been a happy house. Growing up, all Sirius could remember were the tutors, who taught them how to be ‘proper Purebloods’, and later on the screaming matches that went down every single day during the summer up until he turned sixteen, which was when he had snuck out to the Potter manor and had never looked back.  _

_ It wasn’t much happier now. Sirius looked around the table, the long, worried faces greeting him like old friends. He could faintly hear the Weasley boys and Hermione having a heated discussion upstairs, but it wasn’t clear enough as to get the details of what it was about. Albus Dumbledore was sitting serenely at the other end of the enormous table, right in front of Sirius, stroking his beard with his wrinkly fingers. Sirius thought he could see a faint glint of something in Dumbledore’s eyes, but he was sure his mind was playing tricks on him. Albus had nothing to hide.  _

_ “Voldemort has been lying low,” Remus said gravely, swirling around the goblet which Sirius knew contained his usual dose of Wolfsbane. His own nose scrunched up, feeling sorry for his friend, Moony, even after all these years.  _

_ “Indeed Tom has, yes,” Albus agreed placidly.  _

_ “What do you think he’s plotting? Is Harry in danger?” _

_ “Harry is in no greater danger than he was before, when Tom was actively seeking him out,” Dumbledore answered. “We can’t be too hasty as to assume anything, but I do believe he is getting weaker and weaker as the days pass by. After all, one can only come so far with a body made out of a potion.” Sirius snorted, despite the worry gnawing away at his stomach. He knew Dumbledore’s words were supposed to calm him down, but for some reason he became even more agitated by them.  _

_ “Is Harry alright? Have you gone to visit him on his birthday?” he asked, chewing lightly on his lip.  _

_ “Yes, Harry is fine,” came the answer.  _

_ “As fine as he can be while living with the Dursleys,” Remus muttered under his breath. Sirius bumped their legs together with a wry grin, his own anxiety surely showing on his face. He hated not being able to do anything for his only godson.  _

_ Slowly, night fell. As Grimmauld Place became quieter and quieter, Sirius became restless. His instincts told him something wasn’t right, something was terribly, terribly wrong. He thought back to the Order meeting, Dumbledore talking so vaguely about Harry’s wellbeing, the mirth dancing around in his eyes and suddenly Sirius felt his stomach drop.  _

_ He scrambled out of his bed, trying to shuffle around as gracefully and quietly as he could, worried about waking Hermione and Remus. He snuck out of the house, onto the street and morphed into Padfoot, Grimmauld 12 disappearing between number 10 and 14. He was a bit lost for a while, turning down the wrong street, but eventually made it to number 4, Privet Drive. Everything was eerily quiet. Sirius wasn’t surprised, given that it was well after midnight now. He looked both ways before turning back into his human form, making sure no one saw him doing so.  _

_ Sirius Black hadn’t seen it coming. One second he was getting ready to pick the lock of Vernon Dursley’s house, and in the next he was bound and Apparated to Malfoy Manor.  _

* * *

Harry gaped at him. Sirius had snuck out of his house, while still technically being on the run, just so he could check up on Harry because he had gotten a bad feeling. Harry had never dared to hope that someone would love him so much one day. His eyes stung with unshed tears as he completely disregarded the Death Eaters present in the room and hurried over to his godfather, throwing his arms around his neck in a tight hug. A few moments passed before there was a bright light and then Sirius’ arms came around Harry, enveloping him in the warmth of a parental figure. Harry knew there were several other people in the room, and that Voldemort was probably going to Obliviate his godfather, so he wanted to savor every moment they had together. He didn't even care that he was showing weakness; he had felt so alone these past few weeks, the hug was absolutely worth it, given that he also didn't know how much time he had with Sirius. 

“This is all very touching.” Voldemort’s icy voice interrupted them. Harry let go of Sirius, turning around and glaring like there was no tomorrow. “Now, I believe I should teach Black a lesson about sniffing where his nose doesn’t belong,” he grumbled. Nagini slithered inside the room, and Harry felt Sirius stiffen behind him. She slid up Voldemort’s front, hissing something into his ear that Harry couldn’t quite make out, though it sounded bad, seeing as it made the Dark Lord frown deeply. 

“You won’t hurt Sirius,” Harry said, his voice leaving no room for questions. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Voldemort replied, his smile holding nothing pleasant. “Though it all comes down to how willing your godfather is to cooperate in order to keep you safe.”

“I will never work together with you bunch of  _ disgusting, slithering, slimy snakes! _ ” Sirius growled furiously, whipping his wand out. Voldemort’s nostrils - and wasn’t it weird seeing him with a nose? -, flared as he flicked his fingers, summoning Sirius’ wand from his hand. Harry felt his mouth go dry. They were never going to survive this. 

“That’s rich coming from a man who works directly under Dumbledore.”

“What is that even supposed to mean?” Harry interjected, his eyebrows furrowed. Voldemort ignored him, though. 

“It doesn’t matter to me either way. Either you keep your mouth shut about this and work together with us to keep Potter safe, or I rough you up and return you to the Order in a metal box. The choice is yours,” he said dismissively. 

“I know the Dursleys are terrible people, but at least Harry was safe there, far away from you!” Sirius seethed, his voice dripping with venom. 

“You’re so unlike your brother was,” Voldemort mused. “I walked right up to the front door, Black, then I opened it and walked in. Indeed, it was very safe, no one ambushed me, I assure you,” he drawled. Harry thought he was trying to joke around, but the notion was so bizarre he immediately abolished it from his mind. He heard Malfoy snort behind him, but decided to pay him no mind. “I will give you fifteen minutes to decide, just so you see how generous I can really be,” he said, turning on his heels and leaving the room abruptly. The Lestrange brothers and Malfoy looked a bit put out for a few moments before they retreated farther back into the room, but didn’t leave. 

Harry turned to Sirius and took in his godfather’s appearance. Sirius looked tired and weary, although far better than the first time Harry had met him. The grey hairs suited him and his face wasn’t sunken anymore. He looked healthy, besides his bloodshot and empty eyes. Something tightened in Harry’s stomach. He had always wondered what Sirius looked like with eyes shining from being alive. 

“Did they hurt you?” he asked quietly. 

“No,” replied Sirius, shaking his head. “I should be the one asking that. Bloody fuck, Prongslet, how long have you been kept here?” They kept their voices low, although it didn’t do much good, seeing as the room was too big for their voices not to echo off the walls. Harry hoped Malfoy was minding his own business- It sure looked like he was. He turned back towards Sirius with a tight smile. 

“Three weeks, give or take,” he answered. 

“But your birthday was only a week ago. Dumbledore told me he visited you on your birthday, just like he does every single year-”

“Dumbledore has never visited me on my birthday, Pads,” Harry said with a frown. 

“So that means he wasn’t telling the truth.”

“A wonderful deduction, Black,” Voldemort drawled from behind them. Harry didn’t even turn around, only rolled his eyes. 

“That wasn’t fifteen minutes, you know,” he scoffed. 

“Well, of course it wasn’t. Albus isn’t the only one who can lie,” Riddle scoffed in return, walking up to stand beside them. “So, what’ll it be?”

“We haven’t decided yet because you didn’t give us enough bloody time,” Harry snapped. 

“How about now?” Voldemort asked, whipping his wand out and holding it to Sirius’s neck, digging into the skin. Harry felt a shudder course through him. “Is this enough motivation to think a little faster?”

He needed to think fast. He hadn’t been hurt here yet, nor were there any signs pointing towards a future filled with torture, and Voldemort seemed to be ready to kill Sirius if they didn’t give the right answer. But was there even a right answer? And most importantly: 

How did he know he could trust Voldemort?

Harry thought about his friends. Hermione’s warm, chocolate-brown eyes, then he thought about how those same eyes would look at him if he chose to side with the murderer of his parents. He thought about Ron, the boy who had stayed at Hogwarts during Christmas holidays in their First Year, because Harry didn’t have a family to go home to. He thought about Ginny, who was so very ready to be there for him at any given time, the same Ginny who had been possessed by the monster standing in front of him when she had only been twelve years old. He looked at Sirius pleadingly, mortified by the thought of losing him, too. There was a deep ache in his chest, squeezing his lungs tight, breaking his ribs and pouring poison into the cracks. Harry’s mouth dried, his heart rate picking up as he stared blankly at the marble floor. How could he ask Sirius to betray the Light?

He would lose Sirius. There was no way Sirius was going to agree to Voldemort’s terms, and then Harry would be so, so  _ alone.  _

“The clock is ticking,” Voldemort reminded them with a dark glint in his eyes, digging the wand deeper. Sirius gulped. Harry did too. 

“Please don’t hurt him,” Harry pleaded quietly. “Hurt me. Kill me, whatever, just don’t… Don’t hurt him. You’ve taken so much away from him already, just leave him be. Please,” he whispered. 

Voldemort’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t lower his wand, despite his hand wavering. 

“Dumbledore lied… Once. How is that supposed to make me like your side’s agenda?” Sirius asked in a steely voice, not even sparing a glance towards Harry. 

“You’re even more naive if you think Dumbledore lied only one time,” Voldemort hissed. “You follow him as if he were a god. Only, he has more skeletons in his closet than you think.” The smirk on his face was all teeth, and danger, and thirst for blood. His red eyes were gleaming as they glared daggers at Harry’s godfather, a sick satisfaction dancing around in them. 

“I can’t trust you not to hurt Harry,” Sirius said slowly. “I am not even  _ willing  _ to  _ try  _ trusting you. Why shouldn’t I just run to the Order with the information that you keep Harry here as soon as you let me walk away?” he asked evenly. To Harry, it seemed as if he wasn’t even bothered by the wand held at his throat, ready to fire off an  _ Avada Kedavra _ at any time.

“Because you either cooperate, or you leave in several pieces,” Voldemort answered simply. “I don’t have time for child’s play, Black.”

“And I won’t stand in front of the monster who killed my best friend and his wife and just say ‘Oh, well, of course I’ll join as a semi-Death Eater. All fine and dandy, when can I get my tattoo?’. It’s not how it works. I’m not  _ Bellatrix _ , you can’t just  _ seduce  _ me into joining your murder group!” he growled. 

“That night didn’t happen the way you think it did,” Voldemort said, his nostrils flaring.

“Didn’t it?” Sirius hissed. “Didn’t Wormtail betray his friends and get them killed? Didn’t I fail them by suggesting to switch the Secret Keeper?” His voice sounded weak now, as if mentally he was in a different place while talking to them. Harry gulped. 

“Dumbledore knew you weren’t the Secret Keeper.”

Deafening silence fell. Harry could hear his ears ring as he stared at Voldemort. The Dark wizard lowered his wand at once, boredly twirling it around his fingers. He didn’t look bothered at all, and Harry wondered whether he was being truthful after all. It didn’t make sense. 

Why would Dumbledore keep such an important detail to himself and let Sirius go to Azkaban for twelve years if he knew he was perfectly innocent? Then again, Dumbledore had lied about Harry being the safest at the Dursleys’. The teenager’s faith wavered— Was the blood protection even real? He felt so confused. Even if Harry didn’t have that many reasons to trust Dumbledore anymore, he  _ did  _ have enough reasons not to trust Riddle. Well, not so much lately, seeing as he hadn’t outright attacked him or his friends during the past year— Except the mishap at the Department of Mysteries, though Harry hated to think about that particular moment seeing as the DA had failed spectacularly at stopping Lucius Malfoy from getting his hands on the prophecy. At least they hadn’t lost anyone, and that was something Harry had to be really grateful for. 

“Well, time’s up,” Voldemort said suddenly. Harry’s blood went cold. “Oh, don’t give me that deer-caught-in-the-headlights look,” he scoffed at Harry, twirling his wand in the air and gentle ropes weaved themselves around Sirius’ wrists like handcuffs. Harry heard the sound of someone choking in the background, though he paid it no mind.

“What are you going to do to him?” he demanded, his voice breaking at the end. He loathed himself for looking so weak in front of fucking Voldemort, but he felt as if he couldn’t control his reactions. 

“No need to worry, Potter,” the older wizard waved his hand dismissively, walking behind Sirius and starting to push him towards the door. “I’m not going to kill your beloved godfather, calm down.”

“But you said you would return him in pi—”

“I know what I said!” Voldemort snapped angrily, throwing the door open as Harry scrambled to keep up with them. “Now, be a good little Gryffindor and go to your room or I will really go through with my promise.” He shot him a meaningful look before grabbing Sirius’ elbow and Apparating. 

As soon as he heard the tell-tale  _ crack! _ of Apparating, Rabastan turned to his brother with his face white as if a ghost had just walked through him. 

“Wasn’t that a BDSM spell?” he whispered incredulously. 

“I think it would be best not to dwell on that,” Rodolphus muttered back, mindful of Draco eavesdropping on them. 

* * *

The first thing Sirius noted about the cellars was the fact that it was bloody cold down there. He almost changed into Padfoot just to bear with the heat but abruptly remembered just where he was. For all he knew, there were anti-Animagus wards in place and then he would just get himself killed before time. He tried memorizing every little corner and crack, just in case he got out of there alive and had to tell someone. 

Voldemort was awfully quiet, leading him through corridors and then even more corridors. It seemed as if the whole underground part of the Malfoy Manor was just as big as the manor itself. It was so fucking preposterous, though he wasn’t surprised at all. It was fitting for a Malfoy property. He remembered the dungeons of one of the Black estates and a chill ran down his spine. All those bones and skulls… Not a pleasant memory. 

Voldemort ushered him into a spacious cell, and then, to Sirius’ surprise, he Conjured an armchair for him. It wasn’t a bed, but he supposed he would have to make do. It was certainly better than a stone cold metal box. The Dark Wizard left without a word, leaving Sirius to stare at his retreating back until he was out of sigh. 

Then, and only then did Sirius allow himself to sit down into the armchair (it was fairly comfortable), and rub his hand over his face. He had been so bloody stupid. What did he even think, sneaking out to go to Privet Drive? He felt sixteen all over again, although the consequences were far more terrible this time than when he used to go to the Potters. If Voldemort went upstairs to de-stress by  _ crucioing  _ Harry to death, it would be all his fault. He inhaled deeply, chewing on his bottom lip. 

A few, long minutes passed before he heard footsteps again. His ears perked up and he stood abruptly from the chair, peering out the magical bars. 

It was Voldemort. What was he doing back?

“Listen, Black,” he said in a growl upon entering the cell again, carrying a metal box. Sirius gulped. Was he going to be transferred back to the Order in that? Sweet Merlin’s saggy balls. He really was going to die. “I’m not doing this lightly,” he said with a pained expression, holding the box out for Sirius to take. It was heavily decorated, looking expensive and it was bathing in magic. Little zips of electricity traveled up Sirius’ arms when he took it, but it wasn’t actually painful.

“What is this?” he asked cautiously. What if the box was cursed?

“Something of mine,” came the cryptic answer. “Take good care of it. Check everything thoroughly, I will come to fetch you and the box in the morning. After looking through every parchment there is in the box, I want you to give me a final answer regarding the issue we discussed today. If you don’t give me a satisfactory answer, I’m afraid I will have to retort to my favorite green spell,” he said simply, then tapped his wand to the pretty little box, hissing something in what Sirius supposed was Parseltongue. The box glowed for a brief second before he heard a faint lick. 

“I won’t join your side,” Sirius gritted out, glaring at the Dark Wizard.

“We’ll see,” Voldemort shrugged. “Do pay attention, yes?” And with that, he was gone. 

Sirius stared at the object in his hands for a few more minutes before sitting down onto the ground and opening it. There were a few parchments which seemed like official, Ministry documents, but underneath those and a few trinkets, there was a leather-bound diary. He took it out carefully, running his fingers over the cover. It felt nice under the fingers, though he couldn’t ignore the heavy, dark aura that surrounded the book. 

He gulped, and began reading. 

* * *

Draco Malfoy swore under his breath as he tore through the grounds of Malfoy Manor. It was bloody cold for a summer night, and not even the Warming Charm he’d cast earlier helped him.  _ Fucking Pureblood inbred genes, _ he thought as his teeth chattered. 

The Owlery was on the left of his godfather’s Greenhouses. It was a moderately decorated white building, illuminated by permanent Lumos charms floating around. The owls hated it, but Draco supposed they were necessary if one wanted to be able to read the letters at night. He entered, closing the door behind him and started spying for his owl. Alioth noticed him first, and hooted happily as he swooped down from the highest branch, digging his claws deep into Draco’s shoulder when he landed. The boy winced, and offered his owl a somewhat pained smile. His shoulder hurt like hell. He reached into his pocket for Alioth’s favorite treats nonetheless, and offered them to him. The animal rubbed his beak against Draco’s hair affectionately, and held out his leg for him as he munched on the treats. Draco took the letter carefully, gave Alioth another treat and shooed him away. 

He exited the Owlery, not being able to stand the stench — he should really order Pipmey to clean soon —, and made his way over to his favorite Oak Tree. It stood proudly in the centre of the gardens, smiling up at the sky. Draco noted it was a clear night, the stars and the Moon shining brightly. He let out a content sigh as he sat down on the grass, ignoring the voice of his conscience which sounded eerily like his father, and tore excitedly at the envelope. An uncharacteristically large smile lit up his face as he began reading. 

_ My beloved Dragon, _

_ I went stargazing last night, saw your constellation and thought of you... _

  
  



	7. Secrets Kept Within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> I know, I know, I disappeared again. But I didn't forget about this fic, I swear!! Online school is just kicking me in the ass really hard, so I haven't been really able to concentrate on writing anything. Here I am though with a new chapter in which nothing gets explained, but at least our boys are making some progress. 
> 
> Enjoy <33
> 
> PS. I seriously need to update the chapter titles.

Remus’ fingers were shaking as he held the note he had found on Sirius’ pillow when he went into his room to wake him up. The four simple words written haphazardly on the torn piece of parchment made his stomach sink. 

“What are you doing in here?” Remus jumped at the words and quickly turned around, holding the note tightly in his hand. Tonks was leaning against the door with a soft smile on her face. Remus’ heart skipped a beat and he squirmed slightly, feeling his cheeks go red from the way Tonks was looking at him. 

“Just came in to wake Padfoot up…” he trailed off, barely holding himself back from wincing. Tonks raised her eyebrows. They were yellow today, and even though they looked a bit weird, Remus thought she looked beautiful. “What are you doing here so early?” he asked instead, carefully slipping the parchment into his pocket. 

“Kingsley wanted to talk with you about something, so I thought I’d tag along. Why, does it bother you?” she smirked, then obviously tried to swagger towards him, only, her feet got all tangled up and she stumbled with a yelp. Remus’ hands shot out as he hurried to steady her, unable to stifle his laugh. She glared at him, though her gaze softened when he circled his arms around her waist and pressed a soft kiss on the tip of her nose. 

“What does Kingsley want to talk about with me?” 

“They sighted known Death Eaters lurking around Privet Drive late last night,” she said, sighing as she squeezed his shoulders gently. Remus’ mouth went dry. 

“Around Privet Drive you say?” he asked, gulping as they started making their way downstairs. Tonks stumbled on the stairs once, but Remus caught her before she could fall. She didn’t answer his question, only shot him a worried look, but the man didn’t mind. Usually, Tonks not giving him an answer meant he would get his answer from somewhere else, which was just as well, seeing as his other source was currently Kingsley. 

In the kitchen, the Head Auror was already waiting for them. The dark circles under his eyes and his sunken face showed them how tired he really was, though he tried to hold himself upright nonetheless. 

“Where’s Sirius?” asked Kingsley, watching as the pair sat down across from him. 

“In the shower,” lied Remus easily. “What’s wrong?”

“The Lestrange brothers have been sighted sniffing around Dursley’s house. I’m not going to lie to you, it doesn’t look good,” he sighed heavily. “I went by their house before coming here, but they didn’t seem to be awake, so I didn’t want to bother them. I talked with Ms. Figg, and she told me she hasn’t seen anything out of the ordinary lately. If we can trust her, then the problem might not be as big as we thought. If not, well… We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” By the time Kingsley finished, Remus was frowning deeply. Tonks was trying to provide him with moral support by drawing small circles on his thigh with her fingers, and though Remus appreciated that, it didn’t really calm his nerves. 

“And if this really is as bad as the Aurors think… Then what? How much danger is Harry in?”

“A lot more than I would like to acknowledge,” Kingsley relented. 

“So why aren’t we discussing this with Dumbledore?” The werewolf caught the grimace that flashed across the other man’s face before it disappeared. “Kingsley?” 

“Remus,” Kingsley said his name as if he were a small child, “that should honestly be a discussion for another day.”

“If it concerns Harry’s safety then I rather we don’t postpone the conversation,” Remus hissed, clenching his hands involuntarily. 

“It doesn’t directly concern his safety,” Kingsley said placidly. “It’s an issue for another day. For now, we should focus on rescuing Harry from Privet Drive. Without Dumbledore’s knowledge,” he added, almost as an afterthought. 

“Without Dumbledore’s knowledge,” Remus echoed dumbly. His heart began racing a mile a minute, a headache already forming behind his eyes. He squeezed Tonks’ hand tighter in his own, heaving a great sign. Why couldn’t Dumbledore know about their little mission? Especially since he must know about the Death Eaters. After all he was the one to always preach about the importance of the house on Privet Drive being watched at all times during the summer holidays. With a sense of foreboding Remus’ hand flew to the note tucked away safely into his pocket. On top of all that, Sirius was missing, surely up to no good, and no one could know about that one, meaning Remus would have to tear through England to look for his idiotic best friend. 

_ Merlin, Pads, what have you gotten yourself into this time? _ , he thought sourly. 

* * *

The atmosphere was heavy in Malfoy Manor. Though it had once been a happy place for Draco Malfoy, right now, a big black cloud of danger seemed to be looming over the estate at all times. 

The teen watched the Dark Lord as they all sat in the dining room. He was sitting with a perfectly impassive facial expression, although the glare directed at Sirius Black would have made Draco pee his pants had it been directed towards him. His Aunt Bella was silently sitting in her seat, grinning maniacally at her cousin, twitching from time to time. His mother was sitting next to his father serenely, sipping away at her usual morning tea without a care in the world. Draco often wondered how she did that, seeing as he had seen her do it ever since he was small. It could not have been easy to live with an almost-convicted Death Eater and all of the repercussions of the First Wizarding war. His mother had always been a rock for him, though, and continued to be one. He was truly grateful for that, and hoped she wouldn’t turn her back on him the moment his secret was revealed. Because although Draco had been cradling that one secret carefully ever since the end of Fourth Year, he was sure that one day it would come to light, if it lasted that long. Draco hoped it would. 

He also hoped he wouldn’t get decapitated for it. Or worse. 

He didn’t have more time to muse to himself, seeing as the entrance of the dining room burst open at exactly seven o’clock, a very dishevelled Harry Potter appearing in the doorway like a madman, Nagini on his toes. Draco could have sworn he saw the snake roll her eyes at him before slithering calmly onto the lap of the now grinning Dark Lord. Draco honestly preferred it when Voldemort was frowning or glaring; seeing him grin was extremely unnerving. 

Harry hadn’t slept too much, and he was sure it was visible by the enormous dark circles resting under his eyes. His mind had been plagued by dreams of Sirius getting tortured on the cold cement of what had seemed to be a dungeon; slimy and wet. He had come up with only the worst scenarios he could possibly think of, sure that Voldemort would gut his godfather. Not a single positive thought had crossed his mind last night. He’d felt as if he aged 10 years in the span of a few hours. 

Nagini had come into his room at one point and curled up next to him. She had been silent but Harry had still felt comforted by that for some reason. He remembered running his fingers across her scales for hours; it had truly grounded him and prevented him from getting another ‘episode’. He still refused to call them panic attacks; Hermione could be wrong sometimes too. 

And now there he was, in the doorway of the gigantic dining room, probably looking like someone who had just escaped from Azkaban, and Sirius was alive and well. He looked grumpy, but still alive, and that was all that mattered to Harry. 

“Sirius?” he asked incredulously, ignoring the Death Eaters watching him amusedly. “But you’re— You’re not supposed to be alive!”

“You underestimate the kindness of my heart, Potter. I’m truly wounded,” drawled Riddle, lifting his goblet and taking a sip. Harry continued to glare at him— He was sure the Dark wizard had only kept him on his toes the whole night for the fun of it. After all, he couldn’t bodily hurt him now, could he? Harry was his Horcrux, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t make his life as miserable as he possibly could without physically hurting him. 

“My apologies,” Harry drawled right back, rushing to his godfather’s side. Sirius looked as if he was in pain, though Harry couldn’t see any external injuries on his body. He plopped down next to him, oblivious to the glare directed at him by the Dark Lord, and began eating without a word as soon as he felt his stomach settle. He knew Sirius wouldn’t want to talk to him about what happened last night right now, in a room full of Death Eaters who couldn’t wait for both of their deaths. Even though he was very interested in what had changed Sirius’ mind when his own still hadn’t been yet, he waited patiently through breakfast. He was sure they would have a chance to talk later. 

  
  


Half an hour later he was back in his room together with Sirius. He’d spelled the door shut even though he was sure Voldemort could just walk right in if he wished to do so. 

“What did he show you?” Harry demanded as soon as Sirius put up an Auror-grade Silencing Charm around the room. He frowned at his godson as he sat down next to him on the couch, staying silent for long moments. 

“It’s not something you should be worrying about,” Sirius began, “after all, you’re only a teenager. At your age the only thing I had to be concerned about was getting your parents together,” he finished with a small smile. Harry didn’t understand, not really, and he also felt irritated at being treated like a child once again. He decided to let go in favor of being able to grill Sirius about his parents; he was sick of talking and thinking about Riddle all the time.

“And did you succeed?” he asked curiously, hugging his knees to his chest. 

“No, not really. Lily detested your father at first, because he was a stuck-up, snobby, pureblood rich guy,” Sirius rolled his eyes. “But then I did something very bad and James matured. Lily saw that, and finally, halfway through Seventh Year she agreed to date your father. The rest is history we all know.” Sirius’ smile was wistful, and Harry’s heart clenched. He couldn’t imagine surviving after Ron or Hermione’s death. 

“Do you think Mom and Dad would be proud of me?” Harry asked quietly. Sirius’ eyes widened almost comically before he scooted closer and threw his arm around Harry’s shoulder, dragging him close. 

“I  _ know  _ they  _ are  _ proud of you, Prongslet,” Sirius said determinedly. The confidence in his voice made Harry’s eyes sting with unshed tears of happiness, though he didn’t let them fall. What if with them the momentary happiness felt from Sirius’ words would wash away as well? “I’m sorry you had to grow up without them. I know it isn’t technically my fault, though I do feel culpable. But from now on, I won’t ever let you down, you hear me? It’s gonna be you, Moony and me against the world. Maybe even that wretched cousin of mine, since she snatched Rem from our pact of staying single forever,” he grumbled. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Harry was able to crack a smile. 

“Do you think Dumbledore really knew you weren’t the Secret Keeper?” Harry questioned a few moments later. Sirius sighed before answering. 

“I know he knew.”

“So why did he let you rot in that place for twelve years?” Harry asked sharply, detangling himself from his godfather, his now-customary glare back at full force. 

“ _ I _ let myself rot in that place,” came the answer almost immediately. “Harry, you have to stop thinking in Dark and Light. The world is much more complex than that, as is Dumbledore. I’m sure he had a reason for not pushing the Wizengamot to give me a trial. Those were dark times, Prongslet. I wasn’t the only one who didn’t get a trial— Anyone even  _ rumoured  _ to be with Voldemort got thrown in Azkaban without so much as a blink.”

“But how is that  _ fair _ ?”

“It’s not. Nothing ever is,” Sirius said with a sigh. 

“But isn’t the good side supposed to be fair? How are they doing things any differently than a Death Eater-run Ministry would?” Sirius seemed to be taken aback by that, physically stopping to breathe for a brief moment, then he smiled sadly. 

“I have no idea, Prongslet,” he confessed. “Maybe they aren’t doing things any differently, we just think they are because the Minister isn’t a widely known mass-murderer.”

“Sirius…” Harry trailed off. “How do I know if I’m a good person?” he asked, blinking up at his godfather with a frown on his face. Sirius furrowed his eyebrows and sat up straighter, facing Harry. 

“What do you mean? You’re one of the best people I know, Harry. And Moony is my best friend, so that’s saying something.” The younger boy knew his godfather was just trying to cheer him up, so he gave him a crooked, almost honest smile. 

“One day, I accidentally stumbled upon a Death Eater meeting, I think. I didn’t mean to, I was just wandering around, and in my defence, the door wasn’t locked. Voldemort was torturing Wormtail and at the time all I could think was that he  _ deserved  _ it. But no one deserves to get  _ Crucioed _ , do they?” 

Sirius stayed silent for a long while, leaving Harry to gnaw away at his lower lip worriedly. Just as he had started panicking about Sirius leaving him there without a word, his godfather patted his knee comfortingly. 

“I still want to kill him. Does that make me a bad person?”

Harry grinned.

“Kind of.” He dodged the pillow Sirius wanted to throw at his face with a bark of laugh. “He must have been very convincing, for you to stay,” he continued after a couple of long minutes.

“He was. And I don’t feel like Wormtail,” said Sirius quietly. 

“You aren’t,” Harry reassured him. 

And in that moment, Harry thought everything was going to be okay either way. 

He had Sirius, after all. 

* * *

Sirius, of course, had to go back to Grimmauld Place eventually, but he visited frequently, sometimes disappearing in Voldemort’s study for hours. Harry didn’t know what they discussed during those times, or even if Sirius had turned to the Dark side. He didn’t even know what Sirius told the Order of his whereabouts, but he trusted his godfather to do the right thing. 

The middle of August was approaching fast, and Harry was terrified by how comfortable he had become at Malfoy Manor. By now he knew where most of the rooms were and no longer required Abraxas Malfoy’s tour guide services, though he still conversed fairly often with the portrait. Once he learned how to maneuver around the sensitive topics that made his blood boil, such as blood purity, they actually had really good conversations. Narcissa visited him frequently as well, and as the time passed by, Harry felt he wasn’t so miserable anymore. Except maybe for the fact that he was still, essentially, a prisoner, though he knew he could do nothing to rectify that, since it was purely out of his control. And so he decided to make the best out of the situation. 

The fact that Voldemort seemed to be deliberately ignoring him made it easier for Harry to feel good. It was as if he was on a long vacation, away from the Dursleys. He didn’t have to keep all of his prized possessions under a loose floorboard — though, he thought the Malfoys would die if there was any  _ wood  _ in their marble floors —, and he could eat any time, as much as he wanted. That, and the gardens were the biggest perk. 

Another surprise was how normal Bellatrix was when she really tried. Though it was still disturbing to see her trying to  _ flirt  _ with fucking  _ Voldemort _ , right in front of her husband, Harry couldn’t complain about her wholeheartedly anymore. Once, she had even cracked a joke in front of him, which had been equally as funny as it was absolutely mortifying. At the time, he had only laughed because he was alone with her and he worried she might actually try to kill him if he didn't, but later that day, he was able to appreciate the joke. Even if it was about killing Muggles. 

Seeing as things had gone ridiculously well, Harry should not have been surprised by the fact that one sunny day, everything went to absolute and utter shit. And it had started so good, too. 

Alright, Harry conceded that he might have been a bit over-dramatic. He didn’t understand how anyone could remain calm though, when being faced with dueling lessons by Voldemort himself. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, staring blankly at the Dark Lord. 

“Do I look like I run a joke-shop?” the older retaliated, glaring down at Harry as he spelled the dueling room’s door shut with a wave of his hand. 

“I know how to duel perfectly well!” Harry said indignantly. “Besides, I can’t use my wand. How is that fair?” he grumbled a few moments later. 

“Who said anything ever is?” Voldemort snorted, sounding eerily like Sirius. Harry shuddered. “Your not being able to do magic outside the school with a wand is precisely the reason why I want to have this lesson. You will find, Potter, that oftentimes in life it is much easier to just use one’s hands. Now, of course, not everyone is capable of mastering the art of wandless magic, but even a buffoon could do what I’m about to teach you,” he said dismissively. 

Harry could only gape at him. He squirmed, feeling utterly uncomfortable in his skin at the moment. 

“But what if I don’t want to learn how to do wandless magic from a bloody  _ mass-murderer _ ?” he hissed, suddenly feeling irrationally angry at the dismissive tone in Voldemojrt’s voice. The Dark wizard turned slowly, cocking one of his eyebrows arrogantly. 

“I couldn’t care less, Potter,” he said simply. “No Horcrux of mine will walk around without the necessary means to defend himself.”

“I can bloody well defend myself!” Harry huffed. 

“Please, Potter. You only ever cast the Disarming Charm; at this point I’m wondering whether you truly are the great wizard everyone is gushing about or if you’re just a fraud.”

To Harry’s shame, that made him think. Was he a fraud? He didn’t think he was, after all, he hadn’t ever boasted about his powers or his magical knowledge. He never thought he had anything to boast about, really. Besides, what was the point in boasting? Arrogant, proud people always revealed their weakness early on — Being outbested by someone better than them. And since one already knew what they were so unbelievably proud about, it was easy to pretend they were better than them. Harry liked to think he was smarter than that. 

“Alright,” he said suddenly. “Let’s do it.” The Gryffindor in him certainly liked challenges, and since his itch for doing something that could be passed as illegal hadn’t been scratched since the end of the school year, Harry found he was actually looking forward to a little bit of mischief. Not that wandless magic lessons with Voldemort were the reason why Harry wanted to get onto Santa’s naughty list, but he supposed they had to suffice. 

Turns out, teaching wandless magic to someone with magic as all over the place as Harry’s was, involved a lot of touching. The first time Voldemort had touched his arm to demonstrate how his magic was supposed to flow, Harry had physically flinched away and accidentally blown up one of Narcissa’s priceless, un-repairable vases. They’d had a spectacular row about the no-touching policy Harry wanted to instate. Voldemort was adamant about bodily showing him the flow of magic, with different levels of pressure depending on the spell Harry was learning, insisting that Harry could visualize it better like that when he did it alone. Harry had asked him whether he would have caressed all of his students’ arms and chests had he been accepted for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position all those years ago and then inquired about whether Voldemort thought it was pedophilic or not. He had gotten thrown out of the training room so fast he practically didn’t even realize it, landing on his butt on the cold marble floor of the corridors. Abraxas had laughed at him. Harry never mentioned the no-touching policy again. 

After the first three lessons, they’d come to a silent agreement and the touching became less frequent as Harry started grasping the basics better and better. He could cast the Levitating Charm wandlessly now, and took immense amusement in annoying the Death Eaters during mealtimes. Surprisingly, Voldemort let him have his fun. 

Of course, it wasn’t always sunshine and daisies. Sometimes, Voldemort came to the lessons already angry, and during those times, nothing Harry did was quite right. Neither of them were known for their patience, though, and so shouting-matches ensued, often ending in Harry’s accidental magic doing damage in the expensive Malfoy knick-knacks. 

Today, though, it seemed to be one of the calmer days. It was just as well, seeing as Harry was sporting an immense headache, courtesy of a nightmare from the previous night. He had no idea why he still got them; he was feeling fine most of the time, and considering the situation. He had even answered (albeit a bit lately) Ron’s birthday letter, which Sirius had delivered to the redhead. 

“Focus, Potter!” Voldemort barked out again, as Harry couldn’t muster the concentration to summon the piece of parchment from the other end of the room. 

“If you would shut up for a fucking second, I could!” he shouted right back, pinching his nose. It alleviated the headache for a quick moment, though it wasn’t nearly enough. 

“Potter, are you not feeling well?” Voldemort’s voice sounded as if inquiring about Harry’s health felt just as bad as Bellatrix’s Cruciatus Curse. The young wizard would have snorted, had he not thought his head was going to split open from the pain. 

“I’m fine,” he grumbled. “I just needed a moment,” he added, lifting his chin and squaring his shoulders. 

“If your head hurts, you should just say so,” Riddle scoffed, shooting a quick, blue spell towards him. Harry almost leaped out of the way, but he didn’t move quite enough to the left, so it hit him square between his eyes. His headache disappeared almost instantly, and he sighed with relief. 

“Thanks,” he muttered grudgingly. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than having to thank the fucking Dark Lord for  _ healing  _ him. What had the world come to? A month ago he had thought he would  _ die  _ here. “Why do you hate Muggleborns so much?” Harry asked suddenly. The question had been gnawing away at him for a while now, ever since he’d talked about it with Narcissa. 

Voldemort stared at him for a long moment, and then sighed resignedly. He motioned for Harry to join him at the only table in the room. Harry did so warily, sitting down in front of Riddle with his lips pursed in a grim line, a frown etched across his face. He knew he would probably never get a satisfactory answer, however, he was still curious. 

“I am aware that Narcissa and yourself have already talked about this,” the Dark Lord began. “What Narcissa said is true. I don’t hate Mudbloods, I just simply despise the fact that they will never be able to blend into the Wizarding society well enough.”

“That could be rectified with lessons, though,” Harry interjected. “And don’t call them that, it really defeats the purpose of this conversation. 

“Of course,” said Voldemort, choosing to ignore the last part, “They would still be a liability because of their Muggle relatives. Muggles have no business knowing about the Wizarding world, not like they do now. The Ministry allows for the whole branch of Muggle relatives to know about the magical child in their family, and that is simply too much of a risk. Muggles are cowards, Potter, they fear everything they do not know, and they try to destroy it. You know from experience what scared Muggles are like, don’t you? Isn’t that the reason why you are sitting here and not having tea with them while laughing about silly jokes?” he hissed, his red eyes gleaming dangerously. “I want to eradicate all Muggle things from the Wizarding world. Completely crush them to ashes; I do not wish to kill all Mudbloods. Only the ones who pledge more loyalty to the Muggle world than to the Wizarding one,” he finished, leaning back into his seat, clenching his jaw. 

“So what happened before you killed my parents, then? What sprung all of these rumours?” Harry hated to admit, but he was intrigued by what Voldemort said. 

“One certainly does become insane after one too many Horcruxes, Potter,” came the answering drawl. “We have to protect wizarding blood— All kinds of wizarding blood. Not kill it. I have never killed wizarding children; even I admit that’s a little sick,” he conceded. 

“Except when you came for my neck and sprung a little green spell onto me,” said Harry dryly. 

“Well, yes. I find you’re an exception from most of my rules, Potter. Quite unnerving,” replied Voldemort smoothly. There was a glint in his eyes that could have been mistaken for genuine amusement— But it couldn’t really, right? This was Voldemort!

Voldemort, who didn’t actually want to kill all Muggleborns, and Voldemort, who looked at Harry decidedly strangely lately. 

Harry’s stomach churned; _ what in the bloody ballsack of Merlin was going on? _ , he thought as he continued sitting on the chair helplessly. 

  
  
  



	8. Half a Spy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello darlings<33
> 
> Here I come with another chapter. I did not read this through, so I know there WILL be mistakes- I apologize. <3
> 
> Warnings for mild mentions of child abuse. As usual, bold italics is Parseltongue. 
> 
> Enjoy<3
> 
> PS.: Peep the code in the chapter!!  
> PPS.: I'm gonna go and update every single title right now lmao.

Sirius was back at Grimmauld Place for the whole week. He still hadn’t explained anything to Remus and his best friend was getting increasingly more and more annoyed with him, which, while it kind of hurt, Sirius could ignore for a little while. He had to, at least until he figured out the best way to break the news to Remus. But how did one tell his best friend that he essentially had to become a spy so that he could stay alive? Even though he tried to keep as much information to himself as possible, there was only so much time before the Dark Lord would go and tear through his mind for the full truths instead of the half ones Sirius had been feeding him for the past two weeks. It was unnerving, having to be in a house full of people he had once considered his most trusted ones, unable to share his biggest problem with them. It didn’t help that Dumbledore came to Grimmauld Place all the time now, but only sat there and stared at everyone with mirth, and something else Sirius couldn’t put his finger on, glinting in his eyes. 

Sirius couldn’t remember ever being so grateful for the Occlumency classes his mother forced him to take when he had been only thirteen years old. As soon as he figured out what Dumbledore really did when he looked at him with those inquisitive eyes, he strengthened his shields. At the time it had been solely for the fact that he was a horny teenager and didn’t want his ancient headmaster to know about his wet dreams, but now, Sirius thought it was a matter of life and death. He didn’t think the Order would kill him on the spot but they would certainly throw him right back into his cell in Azkaban if they found out about the newest changes regarding his alliance in the war. Though he wouldn’t say he had gone completely Dark, more like got stuck in a gray area, he knew the Order would definitely not see it like he did.

It was on a starry Sunday night when he decided he would come as clean as possible, to Remus of course. He would absolutely  _ not  _ tell anyone else, he had sworn to himself already. Remus was downstairs in one of the living rooms, no doubt resting. It was only a week before the full moon, and Sirius knew his timing was probably off, but he also knew if he didn’t tell Remus now, he would be taking the secret to his grave. And so, he squared his shoulders and stomped down the stairs, exuding an air of confidence he definitely did not feel. He chanted his usual mantra— Fake it till you make it. He thought it especially applied to his current situation; he would have to fake being confident and eventually he would feel genuine confidence. Not a single fault in his logic. 

It all burned to ashes when he made it to the living room. Upon seeing Remus, all of his bravery evaporated and he felt more like a coward than ever. He gulped, mentally slapped himself, and stalked to Remus. The brunet turned his head to look at him and cocked an eyebrow. 

“Pads? What’s wrong?”  _ Oh, you know, Remus, just the usual. I might have kind of, sort of semi-joined a blood supremacist murder group, you know, the same one whose leader killed our two best friends and kidnapped their son? Yeah, that one. _

“Something happened,” Sirius began with a gulp, “but I need you to stay as calm as possible, okay? I swear everything’s fine!”

“Well, that’s a bit contradictory, isn’t it?” Remus said, sitting up and giving his best friend his full attention. 

“Don’t interrupt me!”

“Okay, sorry, sorry. Continue.” Remus even cracked a grin. Sirius thought he was going to shit his pants, despite his friend’s clearly (unusually) amused state. 

“Remember when I disappeared for a few hours two weeks ago?” When Remus gave him a nod, he continued with a sharp inhale. “I went to see Harry. Only, he wasn’t there.”

“What do you mean he wasn’t there?” Remus hissed, his whole demeanor changing in a fraction of a second. 

“I’ll get there,” Sirius said, feeling the annoyance rise in him. “As I was saying, Harry wasn’t there. Nor was I for a long time, seeing as the bloody Lestrange brothers grabbed me as soon as I changed from Padfoot to pick the lock.”

“You wanted to pick a Muggle lock?”

“You grasped the point excellently, Moony.” Sirius was really getting annoyed now. “Anyway, they Apparated me to Malfoy Manor. Harry was there, in one piece, looking so fucking underfed I was about to rip out everyone’s throat out and then—”

“Sirius, wait, wait, WAIT! Harry was  _ kidnapped  _ and you didn’t fucking  _ alert  _ anyone or brought him home?” Remus snapped, suddenly jumping from the couch with renewed energy, though Sirius saw pain flashing across his face for a quick second before the brunet composed himself. The shorter man stayed silent, refusing to look his best friend in the eye. “Why didn’t you tell Dumbledore? He’s been here  _ every single day _ for the past two weeks and you said  _ nothing _ ! You haven’t even looked at him, don’t think I haven’t noticed!”

“That’s because Dumbledore isn’t who we thought he was!” Sirius snapped finally. He got up from the couch and began pacing in the room, his fingers tangled in his hair as he started ranting. “He has no intention of making our world better, Moony. He even gave his anonymous vote for the WEU to be instituted, which is apparently the abbreviation of the Werewolf Execution Unit under the DMLE! He wants new werewolves to be put down, Moony! It’s  _ disgusting _ , is what it is,” Sirius took a deep breath before continuing, “Did you know he was also the one to start all that shit with Grindelwald? He was the one who gave him ideas and then dipped at the right moment and made it seem as if his faith in Grindelwald’s cause wavered. But it never did; in actuality, it has always been his idea. For the Greater Good— Isn’t that what’s in the DADA textbooks, noted as Grindelwald’s catchphrase? It’s all him. He signed all of his letters to Grindelwald like that.” By the end of his monologue he was breathing in sharp, ragged breaths. 

Remus could only stare at his best friend. Had anyone seen him in the state he was, they would have thought he was the same madman who had just escaped from Azkaban. Remus could hardly believe it was the same Sirius who had idolized Dumbledore for more than half of his life, soaking up everything the old wizard said. He suddenly remembered Kingsley, and the way he was adamant to keep the Death Eater sighting away from Dumbledore. Did he know what Sirius knew? But how could it even be true, it just made no sense whatsoever. Remus frowned, plopping down onto the couch once more, massaging his temple with his fingers. 

“And just where in the hell did you get this information?” Remus asked, arching an eyebrow. 

Sirius bit down onto his lip. 

“Voldemort.”

“ _ Voldemort _ ? Sirius, how can you be so  _ fucking  _ stupid? Does he have Harry? Holy fuck, he  _ does _ ! And you didn’t say anything!” Remus exclaimed incredulously, watching his best friend with a glare. “Come on, I won’t stand for this nonsense. Grab your wand, we’re rescuing Harry even if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Remus, you  _ can’t _ ,” Sirius said gravely, grabbing a hold of Remus’ shoulders. He felt the other tense up under his touch and he swore under his breath. Remus wouldn’t be this jittery if it wasn't for the approaching full moon. Perhaps Sirius should have thought more about his timing, though he couldn’t undo it now. 

Remus’ eyes widened as he looked Sirius straight in the eyes, as if something just hit him like a ton of bricks. 

“You’re on his side,” Remus whispered. 

“I’m not!” Sirius said stubbornly. “I’m not, Rem, you have to believe me. But until we figure out a way to get Harry to safety— to real safety, not the Dursleys—, I’m gonna have to play the part, don’t you understand? He needs Harry for something, he just won’t tell me what! I  _ have  _ to find out!” He huffed out a frustrated sigh. 

“How do you know that?”

“He hasn’t hurt him. He isn’t really a prisoner either— He’s got this big room, he’s not locked in and Narcissa practically forces him to eat. I didn’t see a hair out of its place, if I had, you know I would have sacrificed my life just to get Harry out of there! But he gave me an ultimatum, Rem— What good would I be for Harry if I was  _ dead _ ?” 

Remus couldn’t really argue with that; Sirius made a good point. A few good points, really. 

“I want to know what made you stop and think before blasting the whole place,” he said quietly, sitting back down onto the couch with a heavy sigh.

“It was some collection of parchments of some sort,” Sirius began. “Voldemort keeps them in a heavily warded metallic box that can only be opened by Parselmagic. They are official, too— I really don’t think he has fabricated them. I saw some disturbing things about officials still working at the Ministry, people everyone knows and whose words everyone holds in high regard. There was plenty of evidence of corruption as well, but I really only focused on Dumbledore. Remus, I have no idea how honest that box is, but if it’s true to the bone, then things are looking really, really bad.” A heavy silence fell after Sirius’ rant. Grimmauld Place felt even darker than it did on better days as the two best friends sat there, contemplating over things. 

Remus was the first to break the silence. 

“You know, the evening before you disappeared, Ms. Figg reported back to Kingsley saying she had seen known Death Eaters lurking around Privet Drive. Kingsley didn’t want Dumbledore to know about it, and I’m not sure he has told him since.”

Sirius’ eyebrows shot up at that. “He doesn’t trust Dumbledore anymore?”

“It would seem so. Or at the very least he doesn’t trust him with things that concern Harry anymore. We’ve all been dancing around the abuse Harry has been suffering at the hand of the Dursleys for years now, Pads, you know that. We never did anything because it went against Dumbledore’s wishes. I think Kingsley is beginning to crack, and one day he’s going to snap and walk out,” said Remus with yet another sigh. He seemed to be sighing a lot these days. “He hasn’t outright said it, but he had this really weird facial expression when we were discussing increasing the security around the Dursleys’ house, and he didn’t want to comment further on why he didn’t want Dumbledore at the meeting.”

“Interesting,” Sirius conceded. 

“Indeed,” Remus said. “I’m not sure if I agree with what you’re doing, Pads, but as long as it benefits Harry, I’m going to keep my mouth shut,” he promised with a small smile, patting Sirius’ thigh gently as a reassurance that he wasn’t actually mad at him. 

“Not a word? Not even to Tonks?” he asked, shooting Moony his best puppy eyes. 

“Not even to Tonks,” he chuckled. 

Sirius exhaled in relief, the letter in his back pocket burning with what felt like guilt from saying half-truths again. 

* * *

It was late into the night when Voldemort finally got around to sit in his study and mull over plans and goals he wanted to achieve in the next five years. He twirled his quill, biting down on it from time to time (a habit he thought disgusting, but couldn’t shake off), scratching things wildly and making new annotations. 

He had to get Potter on his side somehow, and he needed a new approach, fast. Being Voldemort’s Horcrux apparently wasn’t a good enough reason for Potter to betray his friends and family and join the Dark side to rule over Wizarding Britain at the side of Voldemort. He snorted  —  elegantly, mind you — before dropping his quill onto the parchment, letting the drops of ink fall into it and spread into the little cracks. He watched the little spot of ink latch onto the parchment like a parasite and his eyes gleamed.

Maybe he could latch onto Potter. After all, he knew how to disguise an Imperious from the eyes of the Ministry, he had been doing it since he was nineteen. Besides, it wasn’t as if the curse would damage Potter in any way, he would make sure to lift it off from time to time. Though, lifting it only during the holidays might not be enough to make sure he doesn’t really go mad. His mind suddenly flashed to when they were in the graveyard, Potter tied to Thomas Riddle Sr.’s tombstone. The boy had fought off his Imperious before, what’s to say he wouldn’t do it again?

No, Voldemort needed a better plan. He needed Potter to come to him by himself; though this was far more a difficult plan than simply compelling him to do so by magic, it was his only option if he wanted to make sure Potter wouldn’t betray him later on. He had to make his cause appealing to the boy— But how could he really do that? The sanctimonious Gryffindor would never agree with the way he ran things. Admittedly, he had lost his marbles around 1979, but he’d gained them right back as soon as he absorbed a piece of soul or two. He knew Potter would never agree with him though, unless he was very, very persuasive. Now he only needed a way to do that, and he needed it fast. He thought Potter began warming up to him ever since they’d started the wandless magic lessons, but he could never be sure. Of course, he could have used Legilimency, though he doubted Potter would appreciate that. 

His next best thing was Sirius Black. It had been surprisingly easy to convince him to join his side after showing him the contents of the metal box, though Voldemort knew the now-former Order member was still in a bit of a dilemma. The half-assed reports he had been giving him were just as much of a giveaway as his Occlumency shields. Voldemort didn’t like it when his followers practiced Occlumency near him, but he supposed he would have to let it go in the case of Black as to not upset Harry further. At one point he had really thought the teenager would shoot an Avada Kedavra at him the moment he threatened his godfather, and he was thoroughly surprised when nothing of the sort happened. Of course, Harry didn’t have his wand then, but Voldemort, despite his fleeting thoughts of getting killed, knew the boy would never resort to being a murderer. Maybe it was his only luck. 

And so, he had to devise another plan, just in case Sirius Black turned his back on him, too. He couldn’t believe he was going to go through with it.

He sighed, Vanishing the spot from the parchment and began writing again. He scratched a few lines and then began writing again, repeating the process three times before he was fully satisfied with the letter. With a crooked smile, he signed the parchment: NZTMFH HSVIDLLW.

* * *

Harry’s whole body ached. Yesterday, he had apparently wandered too far off in the manor, ending up in a corridor he obviously wasn’t supposed to end up in, if only judging from the fact that the stairs actually flung him to an entirely different corridor. With no Cushioning Charm in place, Harry had ended up on his back and he had been too proud to tell anyone about the incident since. Hedwig hooted disapprovingly at him every time he moved and groaned painfully, but he supposed he deserved it, so he just let her have her fun. It was decidedly weird, though, being nagged at by an owl. Harry secretly thought he ought to be less surprised every time something weird happened. He had had stranger things happen to him than Hedwig thinking he was one of her owlets. 

Harry had been researching Horcruxes for the past few days, seeing as he had nothing better to do. It was unnerving how his only source of information was the book Voldemort gave him; no other book in the Malfoy library seemed to talk about Horcruxes— As if the wizarding population wanted to vanish every trace of it. Harry couldn’t blame them, Horcruxes were nasty business. He couldn’t help but imagine the sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle going on coldblooded killing sprees during the summer holidays, only to make more and more Horcruxes, thus ensuring his immortality. Harry often wondered whether becoming a vampire wouldn’t have been a lot easier instead of becoming a mass-murderer. Then, he remembered it was Voldemort, and gave up trying to find logic. He would never be able to get into a killer’s mind unless he was one as well, which was something he wasn’t really keen on becoming, no matter how curious he was about the musings of Voldemort’s mind. 

Just as he was about to add another little note to the parchment on his right, the doors opened and Nagini slithered in. Harry had no idea how she did that, and whenever he asked about it, Nagini just gave him a little snake-smirk and winked at him, leaving him without an answer. At this point, he was sure it was a little inside joke of hers and Riddle’s, considering he had asked about it one morning during breakfast and they both just sniggered. Seeing the Dark Lord snigger made Harry so uncomfortable he vowed to never talk at the table again (he had broken his promise ten minutes after making it). 

**_“What do you want?_ ** ” he sighed, patting the empty space beside him on the bed. Nagini curled up into a ball, and blinked slowly at him. Harry frowned. **_“Are you alright?”_ **

**_“Yes I am, hatchling. I’m just tired. Master’s mind was not quiet last night; I hate it when he does that,”_ ** she grumbled — as much as a giant snake could grumble —, and tightened around herself. Harry lifted his hand and ran his fingers down her coils. The texture had been weird at first, but Harry spent a lot of time petting Nagini these days so he had gotten used to it. She was cold again, and the boy thought that could be one of her problems as well. 

**_“He’s in your mind?”_ ** Harry asked, frowning.

**_“Of course he is. He’s in yours too, isn’t he?”_ ** she asked, sliding closer to him and resting her head on his shoulder. It was a bit uncomfortable, since Harry couldn’t look her in the eyes in this position but he didn’t want her to move if she felt comfortable. 

Harry’s eyes widened in understanding.  **_“You’re his Horcrux too? But he said he’s never made another living Horcrux before!”_ **

“That is a little bit offending, indeed,” Nagini huffed, her tongue flicking over Harry’s ear.  **_“Maybe he just meant he’s never made another human a Horcrux before. It is a very big honour, hatchling, if I were you I’d be jumping in joy. Only, I don’t have legs.”_ **

Harry gaped at Nagini.  **_“An honour? He killed my mother! That’s how I became a fucking Horcrux, Nagini, so don’t tell me I should be honored,”_ ** Harry growled, circling his fingers around her and trying to get her off of him with little luck.  **_“Get off of me!”_ **

**_“I won’t!”_ ** Nagini hissed petulantly, thumping Harry on his head with her tail, not nearly hard enough for i **_t to hurt. Harry might have even found it a little bit funny if not for the things Nagini said. “I will ignore your hurt right now, little hatchling, because Master has just told me to tell you you’re needed in the meeting room. I don’t know why he thinks I am a post owl, but I will have to talk to him about it. Now, come, and stop sulking,”_ ** she hissed smoothly, finally letting go of Harry and getting off the bed. 

The boy contemplated on staying in his room just for the sheer stubbornness (but also to show Voldemort that he _couldn’t,_ in fact just order Harry around as he wanted). But then he remembered that Nagini surely must not be talking about a common meetup for afternoon tea, but rather a Death Eater meeting. Now, though Harry might not have been interested in taking tea with the Dark Lord, he was interested in seeing how he ran things now that he was somewhat sane. Try as he might, he would always be just the slightest bit crazy. Harry didn’t forget the Muggles in the cellars (and neither did he ask Riddle about them, for that matter, but that was an entirely different thing). He got up from his bed, hissing almost inaudibly at the pain, and followed Nagini through the corridors. He greeted Abraxas Malfoy’s portrait on the way, and not long after that the pair of them paused at a grandeur mahogany door. It opened before them, revealing the same room Harry had stumbled upon when Voldemort was torturing Wormtail. He noticed the round, rat-like man there as well, though he sat far away from Voldemort’s seat. He scoffed at him, and even from a distance he could see the man quiver. _He deserved it, he deserved it, he deserved it,_ Harry chanted to himself as images of Pettigrew getting _Crucioed_ flashed in his mind. 

“Ah, Potter,” Riddle smirked. “How nice of you to join us. Come, take a seat,” he said graciously, gesturing to the empty chair next to him. Harry grimaced, but complied nonetheless, plopping himself down in a manner that he knew wasn’t appropriate. He couldn’t find it in him to care. 

He could see the Malfoys, and the Lestranges there, but they were the only people he knew besides Wormtail. He noted Sirius’ absence with a relieved sigh. There were a lot less Death Eaters than he would have expected. On the way here, he had mentally prepared himself for hundreds of thousands of people who just wanted to kill him. It was very different from what he imagined. Of course, the atmosphere wasn’t exactly joyous, but it wasn’t terribly tense either. A man unknown to him scowled at him. He seemed familiar though, and Harry sat there for a few moments, trying to remember when he had seen him. Then, an axe popped into his mind and a frown made its way onto his face— it was Macnair, the executioner who’d ‘killed’ Buckbeak in his third year. Next to Macnair sat a sophisticated, older man who simply oozed aristocracy. The others didn’t seem particularly interesting, so the teenager directed his gaze towards Narcissa instead. He gave her a small smile which she returned with a nod. Draco rolled his eyes at the scene, but upon noticing the look Riddle gave him, his posture straightened and his facial expression became blank. Harry noticed he was clutching an envelope in his right hand, almost protectively. It must be some important letter containing a task, Harry thought to himself absently as he slouched and made himself more comfortable. 

“Alright, now that we’re all here, we can begin,” Riddle said again, his smirk turning icy. “Bring us tea, Wormtail,” he said. When the man didn’t comply, Voldemort’s eyes turned red with fury and he snapped, “Now, Wormtail!”

At that, the rat scurried away, making himself scarce in a fraction of a second. If he hadn’t rushed past Harry, his stench following him like a cloud, Harry might have even thought he Apparated. 

“My Lord, if I may,” the sophisticated man next to Macnair said as soon as the door shut close. 

“Yes, Avery? Have you finally done what I asked you to do months ago?” Riddle cocked a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“Yes, yes of course, my Lord,” the man named Avery said, conjuring a very official-looking parchment from under his robe. Voldemort summoned it to himself and cradled the document in his hands carefully, a feral grin etching itself across his face. 

“This should suffice, Avery,” he said finally, after a few moments. Harry’s patience cracked. 

“What’s that?” he asked. Avery and Macnair glared at his question while Lucius only sighed resignedly. 

“Something that does not concern you,” Riddle said. At that moment, Nagini slithered up his leg and coiled herself around his shoulders. She hissed something into his ear that Harry didn’t hear, though he could have sworn he heard the word  _ ‘idiot’  _ at least two times. He wondered whether there existed some Ear-Cleansing Spell he could use, because there was no way Nagini had just called Voldemort an idiot. The Dark wizard hissed in frustration (Harry felt Malfoy flinch at the other side of the table), and turned his head back towards the teen once again. “Alright, fine. If you must know, it is a preliminary of a bill I wish to be passed. Avery here has a seat in the Wizengamot. He’s my ticket to slowly reforming the Ministry’s way of running things,” he said dismissively, sealing the envelope. Harry’s eyebrows shot up.

“So, what is this bill about? Making the Unforgivables legal?” he asked, rolling his eyes and slouching into his chair even more. Voldemort’s glare reached new levels of scary at that moment, though Harry wasn’t too bothered by it. He didn’t have the looming threat of one of his family members dying over his head anymore; why should he care about being respectful?

“Naturally,” Riddle drawled. He pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing, “No, Potter. It’s a bill regarding the abuse magical children suffer at the hand of their Muggle care-takers. I want all Muggle families monitored— And I want that to be a law. Hence the bill,” he finished, waving the envelope in his hand before tucking it away safely. 

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. He knew there were no laws regarding that, seeing as no one had checked in on him before he went to Hogwarts, and nor had they checked in on Hermione as far as he knew, but to know it in theory and hear it out loud were two distinctly different things. His heart clenched as he imagined magical kids, so very afraid of their own accidental magic. He imagined the Harry Potters of the world, locked away in small spaces, or sent to the doctors. He wouldn’t put it past some people to perform exorcism on their children, too. To his utter mortification he felt his eyes sting with unshed tears, the bitter feeling of resentment leaving an unpleasant taste in his mouth. 

“I see,” he said simply, his voice hoarse. Riddle’s lips twitched in an unamused matter.

He ignored Harry for the rest of the meeting. The teen wasn’t bothered by that, though; after getting over the unfairness of it all, he was actually able to pay attention to the things that were discussed. To his surprise, it was an unbelievably polite discussion; not a Crucio or Avada Kedavra in sight. He soon realized the reason for that was because these people were Voldemort’s inner circle— his most trusted followers. Harry supposed he wouldn’t have killed any of them either if he were in Riddle’s place. Interesting questions, such as ‘Should Muggleborns be allowed to breed?’ (Harry voted yes even though no one had asked his opinion), or ‘Should werewolves have safe havens across the magical countrysides where they would be able to roam free, safely, during the full moons?’ (Harry voted yes to that, too). His personal favorite had been the question about gay marriage. Apparently, Riddle didn’t have a problem with mass-murder, but he drew the line at homophobia. Harry couldn’t actually believe his ears when Voldemort informed Avery that all marriages would be beneficial to the magical world, seeing as there was a Fertility Potion which enabled same-sex couples to conceive biological children. Avery had countered him by saying that same-sex couples could have children without marrying each other and that tradition should be maintained. Voldemort had shot a Silencing Spell at him, and that was that; all was well. 

When the meeting ended, the Death Eaters promptly Disapparated as if they were one large body performing the spell— Even the Malfoys and the Lestranges. That left Harry alone with Riddle and Nagini, who seemed to be napping thrown across her owner’s lap. 

“Is she really your Horcrux as well?” Harry asked after a few beats of silence.

“How do you know that?” asked Riddle suspiciously. 

“She told me. Before coming here, we had a talk— She told me you were in her head and that you were in mine, too. I just put two and two together,” Harry shrugged. “Why did you tell me you haven’t made living Horcruxes before?”

“Nagini is a special case. She is a Magical Being, not just some ordinary giant snake. You’re a human, the two are distinctly different.” Voldemort seemed annoyed. Harry loved that. 

“Technically, I am a Magical Being, too. You know, being a wizard and all that.”

“I know, Potter.” Riddle rolled his eyes again. They looked crimson red;  _ they are somewhat captivating _ , Harry thought. He hated how Riddle wasn’t the ugly, snake-like thing anymore. “But first and foremost, you are still human. Besides, Nagini probably wouldn’t survive the extraction either. It’s best not to even try,” he scoffed. 

“Who did you kill to make her?” asked Hary quietly. 

“Bertha Jorkins,” came the reply without missing a beat. Harry’s stomach clenched in disgust. 

After a bout of silence, Harry spoke up again. 

“Did you really mean it? What you said about… You know, er, two wizards marrying each other?” Harry  _ knew  _ his whole face was red, if only judging by the burning sensation in his cheeks. He wanted to die right then and there when Voldemort’s eyebrows shot up, seemingly wanting to touch the fucking sky. Harry was  _ mortified _ . 

“My, my, aren’t we chatty today?” the older drawled. “But yes, Potter, I don’t just throw lies around like they’re candy. Why the sudden interest?”

Harry thought about last year, watching the droplets of water slide down Fred Weasley’s torso in the showers after an especially rough practice. He thought about how suddenly Dean Thomas’ ass seemed to be in his face all the bloody time— and how good it looked. Or Ernie Macmillan’s suddenly very, very attractive smug face. God, how he’d hated himself for the first few months after realizing he liked boys as well as girls. 

Of course, Hermione had figured it out in a few weeks. Apparently she had waited for Harry to come to the realization by himself, and then tell them whenever he felt like it (which had been late one night in the vacant common room). Harry knew Hermione would accept him, but he had had his doubts about his other best friend. Ron had taken it surprisingly well, though. Alright, that was a bit of a stretch— He’d been offended he wasn’t on the list they’d named ‘Boys Who Made the Boy-Who-Lived Realize He Was the Boy-Who-Loved-Boys’. 

Realizing he had been creepily staring at the floor for a while, he cleared his throat. 

“No reason,” he answered at once. “No reason at all.”

Voldemort only smirked like he knew something that Harry didn’t. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think the code means?:D


End file.
